


Wing and A Prayer

by sgamadison, the_cephalopod



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cephalopod/pseuds/the_cephalopod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was going to take more than a pair of ruby slippers to get them home this time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wing and A Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2009 McShep Match prompt: Wing and a Prayer. Special thanks to betas lisas_secret and zinfic.

> Rodney looked over the contents of the merchant's stand with a practiced eye, so familiar by now with Ancient technology that all it took was the briefest of glances for him to identify whether a specific stall was worthy of further investigation. Rodney sighed to himself and shook his head as nothing noteworthy caught his attention. This entire mission was quickly turning into a complete and utter waste of time, he thought with a frown.
> 
> "Is there nothing here, Rodney?" Teyla asked.
> 
> "Not a thing," he replied in annoyance as they moved together to explore the next stand.
> 
> "I have to confess that I am surprised," Teyla said as they reached the next table. "The annual market of Tebex is renowned for the variety of its offerings."
> 
> Rodney sighed and picked up the broken shard of a DHD control crystal from amongst the bric-a-brac. He regarded it with disgust and then held it up towards Teyla. "Yes, well, it would seem that they're having an off year," he retorted sarcastically.
> 
> Teyla looked at the blacked crystal and then back up at Rodney. "It would appear you are correct," she admitted and Rodney snorted. "But perhaps Ronon and the Colonel are having better luck."
> 
> "Ha," Rodney replied. "Like either of them would know a useful piece of Ancient equipment if it came up and bit them on the ass. Honestly, I don't know what Sheppard was thinking splitting us up like this; all those two are going to come back with are things with the sole purpose of making the biggest bang."
> 
> Teyla regarded him silently for a moment, her eyes serious and tinged with sadness. "I believe that John is merely trying to make the most of our time here," she finally said quietly. "It is a very large market and we have only one more day until it is finished."
> 
> Rodney felt himself start to flush, all too aware of what Teyla wasn't saying; the real reason behind the unusual split in their pairings whilst off-world. Not that he minded being with Teyla, of course, it was just that _not_ being with Sheppard was a stark reminder of things he would much rather forget. They were all aware that it would have made far more sense for Sheppard to be paired with him in the search for Ancient devices and for Ronon and Teyla to make use of their local knowledge in the look out for other sources of food, weapons and allies. With his own experience of Ancient technology and the Colonel's powerful ATA gene, they would have been able to ascertain the worth of remaining at the market for the scheduled duration of their mission far quicker if they were working together than doing so separately. However, things between himself and Sheppard had been strained of late, to say the least.
> 
> SGA-1 was currently on a mission to P2T-594, attending a large gathering of, what looked to Rodney, at least half the populated planets with stargates in the quadrant. It was an annual event, which Teyla recalled from her childhood, at which pretty much everything under the sun could be acquired – except for Ancient artifacts, it would seem. As Rodney stared across the market, taking in the throngs of people milling about the vast field with its multi-colored assortment of stalls, tents and marquees, he wondered how much longer such an event could occur. In light of the constant threat of the now-awakened Wraith, he couldn't help but believe that a gathering this large would be deemed too great a risk in future years.
> 
> Although the arrival of the _Daedalus_ and their new Zed-PM had considerably increased Atlantis' chances of survival against the Wraith, the siege of the city and how close they'd all come to total annihilation was still fresh in everyone's minds. So, their mission dictates had remained unchanged despite their reconnection with Earth – an unending search for knowledge, supplies and allies.
> 
> Rodney winced as he recalled at what cost their survival had come. He knew that Landry, Caldwell, the rest of the IOA people back on Earth had considered the final outcome to be a great success. Objectively, Rodney was forced to admit that it had been; after all, they had successfully destroyed the Wraith armada, the Daedalus was now making regular supply runs to the city from Earth and their home once again shone with the power of a Zed-PM. Nevertheless, Rodney's dreams were still colored by the terror he'd felt during those few frantic days – the long hours he'd spent with his science team searching desperately for a solution, the pain of watching his friends and colleagues fall in battle, his own terror at having to face a Wraith alone with nothing but a broken handgun, the crippling guilt at having built the bomb which would end the life of his best friend...
> 
> Although, he supposed he should say his _former_ best friend. Because that was what was really behind the unusual segregation of the team – Rodney's fractured relationship with Sheppard, Teyla's kindly spoken excuses notwithstanding. The Colonel hadn't paired himself with Rodney during any of their recent missions if there had been the slightest chance that he could possibly avoid it. The realization hurt Rodney far more than he would ever admit. The strength of his reaction to Sheppard's avoidance of him in the aftermath of Doranda had surprised Rodney. He'd grown used to being disliked; to being envied, despised, and avoided by pretty much everyone with whom he had ever worked. He knew that professional jealousy had a lot to with it, but he also knew that his own attitude and his behavior towards his colleagues certainly didn't exactly engender their friendship. He'd learned not to care – it was a skill he had developed many years prior, while he was still at school, when being skipped far ahead of his peers and realizing that he was smarter than all of his teachers, had taught him that he would always be different and alone.
> 
> To his surprise, on Atlantis he did care, very much so in fact. During the first few months of the expedition, Rodney had come to realize that his team mates and colleagues actually meant something to him and that, perhaps more importantly, what they thought of him meant something too. He'd done his best, throwing himself fully into his new role. He'd spent countless hours working on Atlantis when he was supposed to be off-duty, trying to ensure that their new home was as operational as their naquadah generators could possibly make her. He'd trained hard, becoming proficient with his Berretta and a P-90 so he wouldn't let his team down in the field. He'd studied the Ancient database at length, pouring over endless schematics, treatises, and data entries in the effort to uncover anything which might help to ensure their survival. With Arcturus, Rodney had finally thought he'd found it. He had never been more wrong.
> 
> With the benefit of hindsight, Rodney now accepted that he'd screwed up over Doranda, but he had just been so caught up in the possibilities the project offered. He'd thought that here, finally, was a way for him to make a major difference in their fight against the Wraith. If only he could have found a way to make Project Arcturus work, they could have completely turned the tide of the war – there would be no more sieges of Atlantis, no more culling of innocent planets, and no more need for Sheppard to ride roughshod to his own death out of some misplaced sense of responsibility for everyone and everything. Rodney had been entirely blinded by his vision, thoroughly seduced by the promise of the weapon's power, and elated by Sheppard's trust in him even in the face of Elizabeth's objections.
> 
> Ultimately it had all been for nothing. To this day he still didn't understand what had happened; he probably never would. The math still supported his conclusions, just as it had when he'd first run the calculations which had indicated that Arcturus was salvageable. Yet, despite his carefully crafted equations, the theory had not held up in practice and it had been Sheppard's urgent insistence that had finally managed to get through to him. Instead of saving lives, Rodney had ended up risking both his own and that of his closest friend – his life had been spared, but his friendship, it would appear, had not.
> 
> "Come on, Rodney," Teyla said, providing a welcome interruption to his meandering thoughts as she placed a hand on his arm to steer him to the next stand. "We do not have all that long before we are due to rendezvous with Ronon and the Colonel, and I believe you wanted to finish your inspection of this section of the market before then."
> 
> Rodney nodded in agreement and tried to shake off the worst of his mood. He'd spent far too much time dwelling upon things he could not change. Sheppard had said that it might take a while for Rodney to regain his trust, not that such a task was impossible. The Colonel was a man of his word, so Rodney had to believe that he was speaking truthfully and that, with time and determination, their friendship was something he could fix – something he _would_ fix.
> 
> Turning his mind back to the task at hand, Rodney allowed Teyla to tow him through the rest of the remaining stalls in the so-called 'technology' portion of the market. He felt a wry smile pull at his lips as they paused at each stand to examine its offerings, 'useless junk' would be far more accurate description for it he thought as he surveyed each bewildering selection of damaged, broken, or useless in some other way.
> 
> "It's odd," he mused aloud. "Very few of these things are Ancient in origin. You'd have thought, given the lack of technological advancement in this galaxy as a result of the presence of the Wraith, that what little was available would mostly be from the ruins of Ancient outposts and ships like the Aurora."
> 
> Teyla looked out around the rest of the market, a mass of tents and stands spreading out into the distance. "Well, there is still much to explore," she said, gesturing across the field.
> 
> Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, there certainly is," he replied with a groan. "You don't suppose there's a coffee shop amongst all that, do you?"
> 
> Teyla laughed. "The sooner we get finished here, Rodney," she said with a smile. "The sooner we can get home and you can get your coffee."
> 
> ****
> 
> Three hours later and the search had proven no more fruitful than before for Rodney. Teyla had picked up some supplies for the Athosians, cloth and material for weaving mostly, but Rodney had still found nothing of use. They were due to meet up with Sheppard and Ronon at the west entrance to the market, the entrance nearest the stargate, and so were making their way there through the wide dirt tracks that served as streets for the its duration. Rodney grimaced as he endeavored to skirt around a large muddy puddle in the centre of the path, juggling the bags in his arms as he tried to evade it without dumping Teyla's purchases in the mud.
> 
> "If they hold this event every year, I don't see why they don't bother to at least pave the walkways," he groused, casting an envious eye at Teyla's spotless uniform and wondering why it was he seemed unable to keep himself equally clean.
> 
> Teyla stopped walking and waited for him to catch up with her. "The location changes each year," she explained, "to help avoid the possibility of a Wraith culling. As I am sure you can understand, Rodney, there is very little that can be permanent here."
> 
> "Oh," Rodney replied. "I... I'm sorry... I should have thought of that – did in fact, but then I... forgot."
> 
> Teyla shook her head, dismissing his apology. "It is alright," she said. "We know no different."
> 
> Rodney nodded, thinking about Teyla's life and that of the other Athosians since the Wraith had destroyed their village forcing them to abandon everything they owned. He frowned when his thoughts turned to Ronon, who had survived the total destruction of his entire civilization only to be forced to run for years while the Wraith chased him down like a dumb animal, existing purely for their sport. His hands clenched around the rolls of cloth in his arms - they all deserved so much better. "I can't even begin to imagine what it's like," he said.
> 
> Teyla shot him an odd look. "Of course you can, Rodney," she replied seriously. "It is what you do every day – it is your fight too now. Pegasus and Atlantis are your home – our home – and together we will defend it."
> 
> Rodney blinked as he digested Teyla's words. She was right, he realized; this galaxy, the Ancient city and her people were his home and his family. They were the reason he fought so hard and why he hurt so deeply when he failed.
> 
> "Yes, you're right," he said to Teyla and watched her face break into a smile.
> 
> "I am glad you agree, Rodney," she said, then, gesturing ahead. "Come on, they're waiting for us."
> 
> Rodney looked along the path to see the familiar figures of Ronon and Sheppard up in front of them, standing to the right of the large wooden posts of the entrance to the marketplace. They were surrounded by numerous packages indicating that they, unlike Rodney, had made some purchases that afternoon.
> 
> "You have had some success, I see," Teyla said with a laugh as they approached their team mates and she took in all the bags piled at Ronon's feet. Most of them appeared to be packed almost full to bursting with various alien vegetables. Great, Rodney thought to himself as he rolled his eyes, more potentially lethal alien food to try, just what he needed.
> 
> "Yeah, we didn't do too badly," Sheppard replied with a grin. "As you can see, we got a really great deal on some vegetables. Ronon's got this really effective... ah... negotiating style, especially when it comes to food."
> 
> Rodney snorted as Teyla replied dryly, "I can imagine."
> 
> "How about you?" Sheppard asked Teyla, his eyes running over the rolls of cloth she carried.
> 
> "I was successful as well," Teyla replied with a smile. "The quality of the cloth this year is very high, I am sure everyone will be pleased with my purchases."
> 
> "What about you, McKay?" Sheppard asked, at last turning to Rodney. His tone was smoothly professional and his eyes cool, with none of the latent humor that had shone in them when addressing Teyla. Rodney swallowed heavily and tried not to be hurt by the sharp contrast.
> 
> "There's absolutely nothing of interest to me here, Colonel," he replied shortly, trying to imitate Sheppard's colorless intonation despite the blush he could feel heating his cheeks. "Their so-called 'technology' amounts to nothing more exciting that a handful of burnt out control crystals."
> 
> John tilted his head at Rodney and frowned in confusion. "You're sure about that, McKay?" he asked.
> 
> "Of course I'm sure, Colonel," Rodney snapped, angry and humiliated that Sheppard would question him in this manner. "Teyla and I have just spent the last four hours trawling stall after stall of useless junk. Do you really imagine that I would purposefully neglect to notice the something that would make this abominable field of mud even slightly more interesting?"
> 
> "Rodney is correct, Colonel," Teyla interjected quickly, before Rodney could continue his rant. "There was nothing of technological value in any of the stands we visited this afternoon. Indeed, Rodney remarked on how unusual he found it."
> 
> Sheppard shook his head and he and Ronon exchanged a puzzled glance. "It's not that I doubt you, McKay," he told Rodney steadily. "It's just that Ronon and I noticed a bunch of guys here with what looked like a whole load of Ancient tech."
> 
> "What?" Rodney asked. "Where? When? Why didn't you contact me?" He dropped his armful of cloth onto one of the vegetable sacks and shouldered out of his mission pack to retrieve his scanner. He hadn't been using it in the market at Teyla's recommendation that they be discreet about their valuable possessions lest they attract the attention of thieves. Nevertheless, after a long day of encountering nothing but worthless rubbish, the prospect of some real Ancient technology was too tempting for him to pass up. "Just let me see if I can pick up a reading," he said, mostly to himself, as he ran a quick scan of the surrounding area.
> 
> As he concentrated on his scanner, Rodney was vaguely aware of Sheppard ordering Ronon and Teyla to start heading up to the gate with their supplies. "Ah-ha!" Rodney said triumphantly a few moments later. "I've got something; it's faint, but it's definitely the energy signature of Ancient technology. Hmm, maybe a scanner of some sort..." he mused to himself. He looked up to see the Colonel observing him quietly. "Umm," he began warily, wondering how Sheppard would take his absorption.
> 
> "Is it worth exploring, McKay?" Sheppard asked and Rodney felt the weight of the question.
> 
> He looked down at his scanner again, trying to work out the correct response, and then back up at Sheppard. "It's not a large reading," he admitted slowly. "But..."
> 
> "But you want to check it out anyway," Sheppard finished for him with a nod. "Come on then; which way?" he asked as he started striding quickly back into the market.
> 
> Rodney blinked at Sheppard's easy capitulation and then hurried forward to catch up to him. "Um, this way," he stuttered out quickly, catching hold of the Colonel's arm intending to pull him back in the right direction. Sheppard froze at the first touch of Rodney's hand around his bicep, the muscle clenching so hard it felt like stone under Rodney's fingers. Rodney dropped his hand in an instant and looked up into Sheppard's cold and equally hard eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he babbled nervously. "It's... um... this way," he said, waving a hand towards one of the quieter pathways. Sheppard nodded shortly and set off in the direction Rodney had indicated, leaving Rodney once again hurrying to catch up.
> 
> They traveled for a few minutes down the well-trodden dirt track in silence and Rodney's eyes kept darting between his scanner and Sheppard's stony profile. They were entering one of the more deserted areas of the market, the name of which Rodney was unable to recall. The stalls that lined either side of the path were mostly empty and unattended with no wares on display. Rodney was suddenly grateful for Sheppard's presence at this side, even if the Colonel demonstrably felt the exact opposite.
> 
> "That's them," Sheppard said quietly, grinding to a sudden halt and gesturing with his head to a small band of men clustered around a stand up ahead of them. "The men Ronon and I saw earlier."
> 
> Rodney looked at the group nervously, noting that they all carried some sort of energy weapon, albeit not ones of Ancient origin. He lowered his head quickly to consult his scanner. He was just about to tell Sheppard that they did indeed seem to have some sort of Ancient technology about their persons and that perhaps Sheppard would like to take the lead in this particular trade negotiation when the men spotted them. One of the men broke away from the group and started to approach them, his hand reaching for his energy weapon as he did so. Rodney felt Sheppard freeze at his side for a moment before he adopted a visibly relaxed air, his hands coming to rest, apparently idly, on his P-90.
> 
> "Hello," Sheppard said amiably, stepping in front of Rodney as he moved forward to meet the other man's approach.
> 
> The man stopped and glared at Sheppard. "What do you want?" he asked menacingly, his hand tightening on his weapon.
> 
> "Not a thing," Sheppard replied casually, adjusting his grip on his P-90. "Just being friendly, but we don't want to disturb you, so we'll just be on our way." Sheppard started to turn then, only partially, never letting the man out of his sight, but just enough so that he could reach out with one hand to grip Rodney's elbow and propel Rodney away from the group and in front of him.
> 
> "Wait!" a voice from the group of men suddenly shouted. "That one's got something, stop them!"
> 
> "Fuck, Rodney, run!" Sheppard shouted as he pushed Rodney out ahead of him, turning back to face the group and raising his weapon. Part of Rodney wanted to run, to get as far away from danger as possible, but a larger part of him froze, unable to leave Sheppard so outnumbered. Mind made up, he spun in place, his hand reaching to grab his Berretta from his thigh-holster, his scanner falling forgotten to the ground.
> 
> "Damn it, Rodney!" Sheppard shouted as the group opened fire, shoving Rodney hard as he dove for cover behind one of the stalls. "I told you to get out of here."
> 
> "I couldn't just leave you here outnumbered," Rodney shouted back as John edged to the corner of the booth and then turned into the pathway to let loose burst of return fire.
> 
> "You should do what I damn well order you to do, McKay," Sheppard growled as he slammed back into the cover of the stall. "Now, I'm going to cover you, so you better run this time."
> 
> "But-"
> 
> "That's a fucking order, McKay, and you will follow it! Now run!"
> 
> Rodney ran. He tried his best to block out the sounds of weapons fire echoing behind him, keeping his head down and sprinting away as fast as his legs could take him. He was vaguely aware of the shots from the men's energy weapons exploding around him, but miraculously he managed to avoid being hit. Despite the galloping of his heart and his ragged, panting breaths, he was vividly aware of Sheppard's footsteps running behind him, knowing immediately whenever the Colonel paused and fired off a few more rounds to keep their attackers at bay.
> 
> He knew, as well, the exact moment Sheppard was shot – his grunt of pain and the sound of his body falling heavily to the ground behind Rodney, followed by the plummeting of Rodney's own heart. Rodney didn't even think, turning back immediately and firing his Berretta constantly as he made his way back to Sheppard's side – never leave a man behind, it might once have been the Colonel's mantra, but it was their team's now.
> 
> "John," Rodney choked as he knelt over the fallen man, wrapping his arms around John's body in an attempt to lift him in the faint hope that they still could both escape.
> 
> When it came, the sound of the blast that took him out didn't surprise him. What did, as the ground rushed up to meet him and his vision blacked over, was how much more terrified he had been when he heard the shot that had felled John.
> 
> ****
> 
> The first thing Rodney became aware of was the incredibly painful pounding in his temples. He groaned and tried to convince himself that he was just imagining the pain; that in reality he was tucked up safe in his bed in Atlantis and all he needed to do was drift off back to sleep and when he woke up next the pain would be gone.
> 
> "He's awake," Rodney heard a sharp voice say and felt dread pool in his stomach – so, not on Atlantis then. He cautiously opened his eyes and tried to take note of his surroundings, despite the pain in his head which was making the world spin and tilt disconcertingly. It felt like he was lying on a cold, hard floor and he was able to discern the legs and booted feet of two men standing over him. The men's boots were strong and sturdy, much like the military issue footwear all of the Atlantis off-world teams wore, and the light-blue piping on each man's trousers seemed to indicate that they were both wearing some kind of uniform. Oh shit, Rodney thought to himself, some Genii-wannabes; this was not going to be fun.
> 
> Suddenly one of the booted feet moved back and Rodney was kicked hard, the boot slamming into his ribs with a sickening crunch and causing him to cry out in agony as the pain spread from his ribs and radiated throughout his entire body. He squirmed helplessly on the floor, curling up into a ball in a futile attempt to protect himself, his body already tensing in anticipation of another blow. He tried desperately to catch his breath, panting loudly as he tried to form the words to demand where he was and what was happening. Before he could do so much as open his mouth, he heard the scrape of feet as the men moved again and rough hands seized him by his arms and dragged him forcibly to his feet.
> 
> Rodney blinked the tears out of his eyes and tried to clear his head, willing the pain to abate for long enough to allow him to try to work out what was going on. He had just enough time to make out the figure of a man standing in front of him before both his arms were pinned behind his back by one of the men holding him while the other struck him hard across the face with his fist. Rodney's head snapped to one side with the force of the blow and he cried out, his skull feeling like it was about to split open from the pain.
> 
> "Enough!" a harsh voice shouted. Rodney was relieved when the man who struck him obeyed at once, pulling his second punch so it missed Rodney's face entirely. "We need this one alive and ready to work."
> 
> "What do you want? Where am I?" Rodney gasped out in between painful breaths, tears running freely down his cheeks and the sharp tang of blood filling his mouth. His brain was slow and his memory hazy, like he'd been drugged for a prolonged period of time. The last thing he could remember clearly was the marketplace and the group of men who... oh, god, they'd been attacked and John had...
> 
> "Where is the man I was with?" he asked frantically, starting to struggle against the hard hands that held him. He could just about make out the man in front of him sneer at him in disgust before he stepped forward. He caught Rodney's face painfully with one hand, his fingers digging viciously into Rodney's swollen jaw and his cold grey eyes showing no pity as he regarded Rodney with barely concealed contempt.
> 
> "Ah, yes, him. You will soon see," the man said ominously, squeezing his fingers mercilessly, causing Rodney to whimper in his grip. "And then it will be _our_ questions that you will be answering." He let go of Rodney abruptly, shoving Rodney's face to the side roughly as he did so. "Bring him!" he ordered sharply as he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
> 
> Rodney was dragged bodily out behind him by the two guards. He felt nauseous and dizzy, hardly able to stay on his feet and mere moments away from being physically sick. He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings as the guards continued to haul him along, just conscious enough to put one foot in front of the other. He knew that he should probably be trying to gather information as to where he was – could almost hear Sheppard's voice in his head ordering him to threat-assess the situation and examine his options – but he could only manage to get a very vague impression of a long corridor with sterile grey walls and bright lights that hurt his eyes.
> 
> The guards eventually came to a stop and pushed Rodney through another door. He landed heavily, sprawled on his hands and knees, his aching ribs protesting at the strain. Compared to the corridor, the room was very dark, lit only by a pale beam of light coming from a high window. The floor under his hands was cold and damp and the air was rancid with the stench of rot and decay. It took Rodney long moments before he was able to make any detail out. He managed to push himself up onto his knees, quaking internally in the expectation of more physical abuse, but the sight that greeted him was far worse than any blow.
> 
> Directly in front of him was John Sheppard, bound by his outstretched arms to a hook hanging from the ceiling. His feet just barely touched the ground and his shirt had been cut open and his dog-tags removed. To Rodney's horror, there were lash marks cutting deep into the skin of his chest and blood pooling thickly on the floor at his feet. He didn't appear to be conscious; Rodney couldn't even be certain he was still alive.
> 
> Faced with the obvious torture and suffering of his team mate, Rodney vomited violently onto the floor, his stomach revolting at last against the pain and terror of the situation.
> 
> "Now," the cold voice of the grey-eyed man said as Rodney was hauled to his feet once more by the two guards. "You will tell us everything we want to know and, if we are pleased with your answers, your companion will be spared further... unpleasantness."
> 
> ****
> 
> When John heard the booted footsteps approaching him from down the corridor, he quickly feigned unconsciousness. Not all that hard to do, he acknowledged grimly as his head was still pounding from whatever had been used to subdue him. His mouth felt sticky and dry; he vaguely recalled the swaying movement of a caravan and being forced to drink a bitter liquid that made him gag and sputter. His ribs were throbbing too; he suspected his captors took advantage of his down time to render a corporal opinion of being shot at by him. He dimly remembered once opening his fly to urinate in the hay surrounding him in the wagon and getting beaten soundly for it as well. He had already assessed his situation when he first regained consciousness: held in a locked room by captors with an odd mix of technology as Pegasus went, no indication as to the whereabouts or well-being of his team, a suspicion that he was dealing with tech-thieves judging by their interest in Rodney's scanner. He had a split second to decide—attempt escape or not? He had no idea where he was or how he would get out of where he was currently being held, but on the other hand, this might be his best chance at taking his captors by surprise.
> 
> In the end, the choice was taken from him. As he lay on his side, eyes closed, listening to the footfalls, determining that there were only two men and deciding how best to take them, a booted foot made abrupt contact with his side, forcing his air out in a painful huff, causing him to curl up involuntarily to protect his ribs.
> 
> "See?" One man spoke with an amused _'I told you so'_ tone in his voice, sounding horribly reminiscent of Rodney at his worst. "I knew he would be faking it." He released another kick, John barely able to deflect the worst of it away from his kidney. He met the contact with a grunt, drawing a leg into his body. He squinted up at his captors, biting back a grimace of pain, marking the kicker for death at the earliest convenience.
> 
> "I don't understand why you didn't just kill him and leave him at the Circle with the others." The second voice was higher-pitched, sounding younger. John focused briefly on him, one of the men from the market, scarcely older than Ford. Like many of the people of Pegasus, his hair and eyes were dark, his skin bronzed.
> 
> "Just goes to show what you know." The smug voice preened a little. It belonged to a thick-necked, red-faced man, the kind of grizzled soldier that drank a little too much in the evenings and was starting to go to seed. "I brought him because he was dressed like the other one, the one using the scanner. The other people with them were not. So whoever these people are, they're from the same place. The others must have been guides they hired."
> 
> "Fought pretty hard for guides." The younger man didn't seem impressed with argument. "And I know this type. He won't tell you anything and he'll be nothing but trouble."
> 
> "He may not have to say anything at all." The smug man spoke cryptically. "Besides, you know the orders. Bring back the tech. Bonus for bringing someone actually _using_ the tech. If this one gives us any trouble, we can always kill him. Might make a nice incentive for the other one to be more cooperative too. Stick with me, kid. You might learn something about managing prisoners."
> 
> _Like maybe not revealing too much in front of them?_ John wondered at the overt stupidity of his captors, but only briefly as he was hauled roughly to his feet. At least he knew now that Rodney was here somewhere, still alive and in the same mess with him. He was not so sanguine about the rest of his team. It was unthinkable to imagine that these people had tangled with Ronon and Teyla and still managed to spirit Rodney and himself away unless something bad had happened to them. _You've really fucked up this time, Sheppard_ , he thought bitterly as he was half-dragged, half-marched down the corridor.
> 
> The walls had the sensation of closing in on him as he was shuffled along, and he realized he probably had a concussion. The institution-grey paint and brightly lit corridors spoke to him of some sort of prison or military compound and all his little internal warning bells were ringing. He struggled to clear his thoughts, to stay sharp, but either the blow to his head or the drugs during his transfer proved to be too much for his ability to focus.
> 
> They stopped at a closed door. The older man stepped forward and inserted a key in the doorknob. John could hear the click of the lock being turned as the door opened out into the hall. He was roughly forced through the opening into the much darker room. It stank with the stale odors of sweat, fear and blood, as well as something more visceral and fetid. The stink of bowels being released, John thought. _Oh shit._
> 
> The only immediate light came from a small, high, barred window above—an anemic beam of half-grey sunlight spilling down into the room, creating a rectangle around a hook that hung suspended from the ceiling. A table sat off to one side, some items dimly visible laid out upon it. Suspecting he might not get out of this room alive, John made a concentrated bid for freedom. He snapped his right fist up into the face of the older soldier, mind registering only briefly the satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone as the older man's nose was smashed before dropping into a tucking turn and punching the younger guard in the solar plexus. A kick back with his left leg took out the older man as he was still moaning and clutching his face. John dropped down beside the young guard who was gasping, open-mouthed on the floor, unable to draw a breath. John snatched up the guard's gun and stood up, only to find himself face to face with an unsmiling man about his own age, standing in the open doorway and steadily holding a weapon pointed at his head. Recognizing defeat, John carefully raised his hands and let the stolen gun dangle from his thumb.
> 
> Cool grey eyes assessed him, ignoring the groaning and gasping men on the floor to either side. "Interesting," the man said, tilting his head slightly, and John felt a little shiver run down to the small of his back. This was a dangerous man.
> 
> The man before him was dressed in the same dark blue uniform as the two guards, but his uniform was crisp, the light blue piping was clean. His skin was lighter in color than the other men, his hair nearly black but shot through with silver that caught in the light from above. He held out a hand patiently for the gun, and with a small sigh, John passed it towards him, still in a neutral position. There was a small moment of tension between them as the gun was handed off and a tiny smile appeared at the corner of the man's mouth once the weapon was secured in his holster. With his own weapon, he motioned for John to step back.
> 
> "Get up," he said harshly to the two guards, who abruptly stifled their noises of pain and struggled to their feet. "Secure him."
> 
> The two men shuffled over to John and jerked his hands down from their overhead position, the older man snarling with bloodstained teeth as he bound John's hands in front of him tightly with some sort of leather strap. The younger man looked faintly sick, shooting an odd look at John that he was unable to interpret. Together the guards pulled John's hands back up over his head again, lowering the hook to attach his hands and then hoisting it back into position so that he was forced to stretch down to maintain tenuous contact with the ground.
> 
> "So," John drawled into the sudden silence as the two guards stepped back. "What do you want to talk about?"
> 
> The man with the gun walked over to the table in the shadows and laid his weapon down. He turned to face John, lightly touching an emblem on his left breast before he began speaking. "Subject is a male, dressed in an unknown uniform, representing a military group with which I am not familiar, but matching the descriptions of the people said to occupy the city of the Ancestors." He smiled pleasantly at John. "I am Base Leader Torquin. I am the commander of this facility. You will answer my questions or you will die. That is what we will talk about."
> 
> "Well, that seems a little harsh." John could already feel the pull of the weight of his body against his arm muscles and the pounding of blood in his tied-off fists. He recognized that if he remained in this position long enough, the effects would be much the same as that of crucifixion—his blood would start to pool in his extremities, being unable to pump back up to his heart. His chest muscles would start to seize up, his lungs would fill with fluid and he would eventually drown where he stood. Of course, this would take several agonizing days. Torquin seemed perfectly capable of leaving him tied in this fashion and simply walking away, yet John somehow doubted he would be that patient.
> 
> He was right.
> 
> "I don't believe you know the meaning of the word harsh... _yet_." Torquin smiled. The expression was still superficially pleasant, but John could feel the menace behind it, reminding him suddenly of the look his father would get on running into the CEO of another company at the country club. He wished he hadn't thought of that.
> 
> Torquin walked over to John, removing a knife from a sheath at his belt. Taking hold of the hem of John's tee shirt, Torquin used the blade to split John's shirt to the collar, letting it hang around his shoulders like a jacket. With the point of the knife, he lifted John's dog tags off his chest by their chain. John tried not to flinch as the sharp blade nicked his skin in passing, the slight movement causing him to sway around his bound hands.
> 
> Torquin frowned as he grasped the tags in his other hand, turning them over carefully but unable to read the foreign language. He looked up abruptly from the tags and John could read a sense of appreciation in those cold grey eyes, but he doubted it would help him here. The tags were suddenly pulled away from his neck, chain biting into his skin, forcing him to swivel and spin on the toes of his boots to avoid losing his footing altogether.
> 
> Torquin walked back to the table, tossing the tags on the surface with a small whisper of sound. He picked up a coiled whip from the table and returned to John's side, caressing the leather with his hand as he spoke.
> 
> "Where is the City of the Ancestors?" Torquin's voice was still calm and serene, as though he were asking about the weather outside.
> 
> "The what?" John said, knowing full well what was coming next.
> 
> "The City of the Ancestors. Perhaps you call it Atlantis. Where is it?" Torquin let the whip uncoil to the floor by his side.
> 
> "Well, I don't exactly know..." John didn't even have time to finish his sentence before Torquin's arm raised and his wrist and elbow snapped down, the whip slashing across John's body before he could even take a deep breath. He sucked air in sharply at the contact, dropping his eyes to look down at his abdomen where a line of fire burned across his skin before thin drops of blood began to bead even as he stared. _Holy fuck._
> 
> "Where is Atlantis?" Torquin asked again.
> 
> "Seriously, I don't know," John said as calmly as he could manage. The whip whistled through the air again, landing in a diagonal line across his chest, the tip flicking up and biting his chin. His pectoral muscles contracted in protest, and a hiss of pain escaped him. He bucked backwards with the contact, and gradually came to a swaying stop. The lash bit deeper this time, the blood that welled up trickling down in a thin line towards his navel.
> 
> "Atlantis." Torquin said once more.
> 
> "See, everyone's always telling me I have a really bad sense of direction," John began, only to gasp at the double lash that struck him—the forehand and backhand strokes coming so quickly that the second one was bleeding before he felt the first one start to burn. Tears began to stream out of the corner of his eyes and he discovered that he'd bitten through his lower lip when it started to throb. He had a sudden, terrible vision of Rodney undergoing the same treatment, his mind supplying images of the broken bodies of Teyla and Ronon lying by the Gate as well. _This is all your fault, asshole. Suck it up and take it._
> 
> "Give me the Gate address."
> 
> "Fuck you."
> 
> The whip came at him again, but John pulled himself up by his hands, kicking out with his feet at Torquin and managing to take the worst of the blow across his legs, the tough fabric of the BDU's holding up to the strike. The two guards leapt in from the sides with a roar, pummeling John with their fists until Torquin commanded them to cease. John hung from his hands, gasping for air, a film of sweat breaking out over his body, his shirt hanging in tatters from one shoulder.
> 
> Torquin stepped in and began to lash him methodically with the whip, asking no questions, merely delivering punishment. John grunted with each blow, his head hanging, watching in fascination as the blood mixed with his sweat and ran in rivulets down his skin. He almost didn't notice when the blows stopped.
> 
> "Subject has ceased to be responsive," Torquin's voice said in that odd, dispassionate tone as he spoke into his recording device. "He has withdrawn mentally from the situation after his initial attempts at deflection through pretending ignorance and then a show of defiance. A different approach is needed."
> 
> There followed after that a long period of silence, during which John became increasingly aware of the pounding of blood in his wrists and the ache of numbness creeping down his arms towards his chest, where it clashed with the vivid fire of his torn skin. He was only vaguely aware of noise and movement in the room, and then there was the sound of someone retching and the smell of vomit in the air.
> 
> "Now," Torquin was saying as John tuned in, "You will tell us everything we want to know, and if we are pleased with your answers, your companion will be spared further...unpleasantness."
> 
> He looked up and saw Rodney standing between the two guards, almost as though he were being held up by their grip on his arms. The side of his face showed the beginnings of a darkening bruise; he looked utterly miserable. John had to quash down a sense of relief that Rodney appeared to have no more serious injuries than that, though he could tell by the way Rodney clutched his side that his ribs hurt too. _Don't let anything show_ , he thought, willing Rodney to understand him telepathically, the way they sometimes seemed to be able to communicate.
> 
> He made eye contact with Rodney, acknowledging the suddenly relieved expression in his worried blue eyes, but bracing himself against it as well. "Tell them nothing, McKay," he ground out.
> 
> "Kill him," Torquin calmly ordered, indicating John with the whip.
> 
> "No, no, wait!" Rodney burst out, hands held out in front of him in entreaty. "What do you want? What do you need? I can help you—I'm a genius. If it's broken, I can fix it. You need a weapon? I can build it. You need answers? I can supply them. I'm your man."
> 
> "Shut the fuck up, McKay!" John's voice shook when he spoke, and Rodney shot him a startled look before turning back to face Torquin again.
> 
> Torquin was surveying Rodney with that head tilt thing again. "Where is Atlantis?"
> 
> Rodney's face fell. "Oh crap, I can't help you with that."
> 
> Quick as a striking cobra, Torquin lashed out with the whip. John flung his head back and swayed on his feet with the sudden contact, but it was Rodney who cried out as though in pain. "Stop! I can't help you because it was _destroyed_! The Wraith attacked en masse earlier this year and drained our shield. We knew they were coming, we could see them on the long-range sensors, which is why a handful of us got away. But Atlantis is _gone_." The despair in Rodney's voice rang convincingly true.
> 
> Torquin stood watching Rodney silently for a moment, weighing what he had said, fingering the whip in his hand. "Long range sensors," he repeated thoughtfully. "Can you build them?"
> 
> Amazingly, Rodney straightened and rolled his eyes. "The answer to that is, 'it depends'. Without a sophisticated computer network to process the data, or the proper components, including the means of creating an orbital satellite array, the answer is no. I can't make bricks without straw."
> 
> An unpleasant smile twisted at Torquin's lips. "I thought you said you could fix anything."
> 
> "And so you've never heard of hyperbole? Anything within _reason_." Rodney's response was astonishingly tart for a man being held prisoner.
> 
> Fortunately, Torquin seemed to find this amusing. "Good. Then we don't need both of you," he smiled, teeth flashing whitely in the dimly lit room. He let the whip fall to the floor, pulling his weapon out and aiming it at John.
> 
> "Wait, wait, wait!" Rodney waved his hands again. "I saw your people in the market. They had Ancient tech, right? You're looking for Ancient tech, same as us. Only it's useless to you if you don't have the gene. Well, he's got the gene in spades. The stuff practically rolls over and begs for him. You want the advantages the Ancients had? Then you _need_ him. You need both of us."
> 
> "Goddamn it, Rodney, will you just _shut up_!" John made a last desperate bid for Rodney's silence before one of the guards stepped over to him and punched him hard in the ribs. Rodney's mouth formed a little 'oh!' of shock and surprise.
> 
> Torquin turned a speculative eye on Rodney without lowering the gun. "Explain this 'gene'."
> 
> Rodney went with the Reader's Digest version. "He's a descendent of the Ancients. He's inherited the skill, the gift, the talent, whatever. We both have, but it runs stronger in him. He can make the Ancient tech work better than anyone I know. And I can fix it."
> 
> The two guards exchanged a look, recognizing the 'gift' that Rodney had described. The gun in Torquin's hand finally lowered and Rodney heaved a too visible sigh of relief.
> 
> Torquin turned to the guards, indicating first Rodney, then John. "Take him to the equipment room. Cut this one down and place him in a holding cell." He faced Rodney again. "You will review the technology we have acquired and build us suitable weapons and shields. He will help you as you need or be killed. You will succeed or be killed. Our ruler will expect results. He will arrive on this world at the end of this lunar cycle. Do not disappoint us."
> 
> Rodney swallowed hard and shot another glance over at John as he was marched away at the direction of the younger guard. The older man cut John down with his knife, not caring that he sliced the sides of John's wrist in the process. John collapsed to his knees, struggling not to fall over to his side, his hands swollen and useless, as though he were wearing boxer's gloves. John was forced to his feet by a hand fisted into his hair. "Come along, my pretty," the old soldier crooned, his smile promising retribution.
> 
> ****
> 
> John was only dimly aware of the passage of time as he lay on the hard pallet on the stone floor of his cell. As holding areas went, it was pretty standard for Pegasus; cold, dark corridors leading down to the cells, walls dank with moisture, the odor of mold and decay filling his nostrils. A bucket with a lid served as a toilet in one corner. A basin fixed to the floor was filled with water that came in through a funnel from outside the barred door. A tray with food was shoved through a slot in the bars next to the floor—John had found a couple of stale rolls and a chunk of hard cheese under the cloth covering the tray, but he didn't have the energy to eat. The pallet was lumpy and damp, the coldness of the floor leaching the heat out of his body where he lay on it—everywhere but where his flesh burned across his chest and abdomen, screaming in its abuse. He couldn't feel his hands at first, until the blood slowly began pounding back into them, and he coiled up in a ball, holding them above the level of his heart, trying to avoid the pain as blood flooded back into his swollen fingers.
> 
> A small amount of light came from a feeble bulb in the ceiling, surrounded by a metal cage. There was a small, barred window as well, too high up to see out. The weak sunlight appeared to be fading; night was coming. He lay on his side, listening to the sound of his pulse in his ears, ticking over the seconds in absence of his watch. A dark, ugly band of bruising surrounded each wrist now. _This is all your fault_. He should have recognized sooner the dangerous intent of the men they had sought out, sized them up before he led Rodney down into a disreputable part of the market. It was his job to do risk assessment, yet here he and Rodney were prisoners of some pretty ruthless people with no obvious means of escape. For all he knew, Ronon and Teyla were dead, though his mind kept balking at that thought, if nothing else because both of them had survived far worse in their lives. But then how were these men successful in sneaking him and Rodney off-world to wherever they were now?
> 
> It wasn't even just that he had failed to protect Rodney; he grimly tallied up all his failings here. If he hadn't come down so hard on Rodney earlier, if he hadn't still been acting like he was holding a grudge over Doranda, then he wouldn't have had to bend over backwards to show Rodney he wasn't doubting his judgment in checking out the energy readings. And that wasn't the worst of it, he decided, adding in the greatest failing of all. The real problem was that his behavior over Doranda had less to do with not trusting Rodney as much as it did with not trusting _himself_.
> 
> Because he had wanted Arcturus to work. Badly. He wanted to be able to bring to Elizabeth the solution to all their problems, to redeem himself for his role in awakening the Wraith by producing the weapon that would save them all. To stop gating to worlds and finding burned out, abandoned villages and people scrabbling to eek out an existence hand to mouth while avoiding the attention of the Wraith. He could still remember vividly the sight of Teyla kneeling on the ground in one such village, trying to comfort a grimy little girl, face streaked with tears and dirt. Teyla had held out a battered, homemade doll which the child clutched to her chest as great, fat tears rolled silently down her face, her entire family taken in a culling. John knew that the little girl had been placed with an Athosian family that had lost their only child in a similar incident, but the memory cut him now as sharply as the lash of the whip.
> 
> Rodney had been sure he could succeed where the Ancients had failed and John had ignored the tiny voice of doubt in his own head because the mess that the Ancients in their enormous hubris had left behind was really starting to piss him off and Rodney _had_ been right so many times before. And because John wanted him to be right. And instead they were both spectacularly wrong and John had suddenly realized that he wasn't objective where Rodney was concerned any more and he couldn't afford not to be objective as military CO of Atlantis.
> 
> And he'd been making Rodney pay for it ever since. He hated himself for that. He hated the way Rodney would look at him with those large, expressive eyes wide with hurt and disappointment whenever John was short with him. He hated seeing the joy of discovery suddenly snuffed out at something John said, or seeing Rodney withdraw further into sarcasm and bitterness when John stepped on his ego. John knew Rodney didn't have many friends, that he'd valued the friendship he and John had shared. Which made the situation all the more ironic. John wasn't angry with Rodney so much as himself. He didn't hate Rodney. Not at all. He liked Rodney too much for his own good.
> 
> He wasn't sure when his feelings for Rodney had crossed from amused annoyance to fond tolerance into disconcerting attraction, but they had. It wasn't the first time John had been drawn to one of the people he worked closely with on a regular basis. Usually he was smart enough to keep his hands to himself, but Rodney was the oddest combination of outrageous arrogance and surprising vulnerability and it pulled at John in a way that he could not explain away as mere physical attraction or bonding over the constant life-threatening situations. Rodney was openly frightened and amazing courageous. He was sheer brilliance in the lab and stunningly inept with people. He was funny and sarcastic and he didn't let John get away with much, seeing through the bullshit when most people bought the cover story. Rodney was also content to deal with John as he was, not needing to poke at him and try to peel away layers to get to the 'real' John. And he was going to die on this stupid backwater planet if John didn't get the two of them out of this goddamned mess.
> 
> John turned stiffly over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling flayed alive on every level. He had no plan. Absolutely nothing came to mind. They were so screwed.
> 
> He awoke to the sound of the steel door closing and realized that Rodney had been placed in the cell with him. It shouldn't have given him the small measure of comfort that it did, but he couldn't help that—he would have been relieved to have anyone with him at the moment, if nothing else to keep him out of his own thoughts. He turned his head carefully and squinted up at Rodney, who was looking around furtively before coming over to his side.
> 
> "Okay, this is what I've got," Rodney began, crouching down beside John, knees popping with the effort. "Oh god," his voice wobbled as he got closer. "Look at you."
> 
> "Never mind that," John said thickly, through swollen lips, "what have you learned?"
> 
> Rodney ignored him instead, getting up to rummage around the cell, bringing the tray of food over beside John and then dumping the cheese out of its bowl onto the tray. He took the bowl over to the basin of water and scooped some into it. He came back to kneel beside John. "Here. Can you sit up a bit? You should drink some water."
> 
> John stifled a sigh. It was going to take more energy to argue with Rodney than to give in and make the attempt at movement. Besides, Rodney was right. He needed to drink water, to try and clear the rest of the drugs out of his system, to move around and keep his muscles from freezing up. If only the thought of trying to lift himself into a sitting position wasn't so paralyzing. He held out his arm for Rodney to pull him up, hooking his wrist around Rodney's forearm, unable to close his fingers in Rodney's grip. He grunted with the effort of sitting up and then closed his eyes and panted softly for a moment after the movement stilled.
> 
> When he opened his eyes, Rodney's startlingly blue ones were fixed on his face, anxiety and fear clearly etched in their expression. Rodney had reached behind him with an arm against his back to help him sit up; his hand now reluctantly dropped back to his side. "What's wrong with your hands?" His voice was higher in pitch and John recognized Rodney was building towards a full-fledged panic attack.
> 
> "Lack of circulation," John ground out. "Talk to me, McKay."
> 
> Rodney ducked his head suddenly and swallowed hard, pouring a small amount of water from the bowl into one of the smooth metal cups provided. He held it up to John's lips with shaking hands. John placed a steadying hand on Rodney's arm but made no move to take the cup—he doubted he would have managed it better. The water was astonishingly cold and had a surprisingly nice, metallic taste. Deep underground spring, John thought, drinking more than he'd thought possible when he first sat up. He sputtered and choked when Rodney tipped the cup a little too far and Rodney murmured "sorry," before lowering the cup and wiping the excess water from John's mouth with his thumb.
> 
> There was a moment of several heartbeats when John felt his eyelids flutter down with each breath and then he struggled to focus on the matter at hand again. "The word, McKay," he reminded Rodney.
> 
> Rodney blinked. "Oh, yes, right. Well." Rodney, suddenly flustered, set down the water cup and picked up one of the hard rolls, tapping it experimentally on the tray and then looking up at John with an expression of utter dismay. John couldn't help but feel a small smile tug at his mouth, but that's all it managed to do.
> 
> "Try soaking it in the water," he suggested before trying once more to get a situation report from Rodney. "You were saying...?"
> 
> "Yes, right, of course." Rodney dunked the end of the bread into the water cup and continued to speak, breaking off a chunk of cheese and smelling it suspiciously before taking a cautious nibble. The expression on his face changed to thoughtful acceptance and he pushed a piece into his mouth, chewing as he spoke. "It's like this, the ruler here has an Ancient fetish, I mean he's like a serious collector here. He runs this planet as well as another and alternates his time between the two, making himself out to be some sort of demi-god. Doesn't have the gene. Only one or two people here so far appear to have it, and it's pretty dilute in them, let me tell you. They took me to a room with a lot of equipment, but I was given to understand there's more, lots more, in other places in the city. I got a glimpse out of a window—you won't believe it, but we're perched on the top of a mountain, some sort of walled fortress, very Alcatraz."
> 
> "And the Gate?" John watched as Rodney experimentally tested the bread, making a face at the taste. He knew the instant Rodney realized that John should be eating too, and struggled again not to smile when Rodney suddenly handed him a torn off piece of soggy bread and a bit of cheese. He fumbled with it awkwardly, but managed to bring the softer bread up to his mouth, chewing carefully. Sour. He wasn't surprised.
> 
> "Not sure, but I saw one largish dirt road leading out from the city through fields and into a pretty dense forest. There were some wagons traveling on it. I'm guessing the Gate's not anywhere nearby."
> 
> They ate in silence for a moment as John digested that information. Rodney's eye kept involuntarily flicking over his chest and a few times John noted his fingers twitching as well, as though he wanted to be doing something as they sat on the pallet together. John finished his bit of food and then lifted his arm to Rodney again. "Help me up."
> 
> Rodney obeyed with alacrity, rolling to his feet, brushing off his hands and then grabbing John's forearm, hoisting him up with such enthusiasm that John ended up falling into him with a grunt of pain. "Sorry, sorry," Rodney apologized nervously, still hanging on to John's arm.
> 
> John pushed off the remnant of his tee-shirt, forcing Rodney to release his grip, only to have Rodney take his arm again when John attempted a staggering step forward. "Where are you going?" Rodney frowned at him.
> 
> "To take a leak," John felt the pull of bruised skin as his eyebrow raised. "You planning on joining me?"
> 
> Rodney abruptly released him like a hot ember and then stepped back. "You um, think you can manage?" His hand indicated John's fly and the look on his face was one of pure embarrassment.
> 
> John looked down at his hands. The pain was better, but they were still red and swollen and felt like they didn't belong to him. "I...uh..." he began.
> 
> "Let me," Rodney offered. "I'll just..."
> 
> Rodney stepped forward and hesitantly unzipped John's fly, moving back quickly as soon as he was done. John, both amused and embarrassed, went over to the bucket and relieved himself. His movements were awkward, but he was going to be damned if he was going to ask Rodney to tuck him back in. When he returned to the pallet, Rodney jumped up and indicated John's fly with hands that said, " _well_?" John let Rodney zip him back up again.
> 
> As Rodney was starting to sit back down, John clumsily took his arm. Rodney flashed a startled look at him, glancing first down at the hand on his bicep and then up into John's face.
> 
> "I need you to check for bugs." John raised his eyebrow in what he hoped was a significant fashion. "You know how I feel about _bugs_ , Rodney."
> 
> Rodney frowned. He was thinking so hard, John could almost see the wheels turning in his head and then Rodney's expression lightened and he suddenly said, "Oh! _Bugs_. I get it. Right. _Bugs_."
> 
> John eased himself back down to the pallet, leaning with his back to the wall, shivering just a little in the damp air. No blankets, no straw, no shirt. It was going to be a cold night. Rodney began wandering around the room, eyes carefully searching the stonework as he moved. When he went over to the waste bucket, he shifted it slightly with his foot and then yelped, leaping back suddenly and then jumping up and down, slapping the sole of his boot repeatedly on the floor before grinding the heel down. There was an audible crunch.
> 
> "What?" John asked sharply as Rodney came back towards him with a shudder.
> 
> "Ugh," Rodney grimaced, his shoulders giving a little shake of revulsion. "There was some cockroach-y thing, at least the size of my hand." Rodney knelt back down on the pallet beside him.
> 
> "Was that the only bug you found?" John asked, locking eyes with Rodney.
> 
> "Yes," Rodney said, but his eyes said ' _no_ '. He made the universal finger-to-the-lips for silence and then leaned in close to whisper in John's ear, "One bug, audio only. We'll have to watch what we say. How'd you know?"
> 
> The moist heat of his breath against the rim of John's ear made him want to duck his head and roll into it, but John sat very still, trying to control the little shiver Rodney's closeness triggered. He turned his head carefully into Rodney's cheek and whispered, "Our friend Torquin has a thing for recording his subjects."
> 
> Rodney's head pulled back suddenly so he could look into John's eyes. John watched in fascination as Rodney's eyes narrowed sharply and his jaw tightened, a small tick developing in a cheek muscle, just like an action hero. John was tempted to humorously point this out but instead leaned back and said in a normal voice. "Good."
> 
> Rodney blinked for a moment, already forgetting the thread of the previous conversation and John sighed. Dissemblance wasn't Rodney's strong suit. As though reading his mind, Rodney shot him an ' _I'm not stupid, you know_ ' look and John gave him a little smile in return.
> 
> "You should lie down," Rodney said, voice suddenly gruff. John nodded and let Rodney help him back down to the pallet, releasing a sigh when his shoulders touched the mat. He lay with his hands propped up over his chest, flexing his fingers, eyes closed.
> 
> He opened them at the sound of water being wrung out of fabric. Rodney was twisting the cloth from the food tray over the bowl of water, shooting John a very determined look that waffled into indecision when he saw John was looking back. "I should...you should let me...I need to..." Rodney indicated the lash marks scoring his chest.
> 
> "Not necessary." John could not bear the thought of anything touching him right now. "I'll take care of it later."
> 
> "What if it gets infected?" Rodney soldiered on. "You've already got dirt and bits of stuff sticking to you." He reached forward with the cloth as he spoke. John raised an arm to block him and Rodney rested his own arm against John's for a moment, until John finally relented and let his fall back to his side. He tried not to flinch at the first touch of the cool cloth against his burning skin, but he couldn't help it.
> 
> Rodney continued to murmur "sorry" at various intervals while gently sponging away the worst of the dried blood from John's chest and belly. The cloth grew progressively more rusty in color as Rodney periodically stopped to rinse it out in the bowl of water and came back again. John's abdominal muscles contracted involuntarily when a droplet of cold water landed on him unexpectedly, but for the most part Rodney's touch was soothing. It wasn't until he tried for a deeper cleaning of the lash marks themselves that John had to stop him. The look of pain on Rodney's face hurt something deep in John as well and he had to say something. "Thanks. I just...please. _Stop_."
> 
> Rodney just nodded, wrung out the cloth a final time and then went over to the door to hang the cloth over the bars to dry. He dumped out the bowl of water and rinsed it several times before dumping it out and turning it upside down to dry as well. When he returned to the pallet, he appeared to take in his surroundings for the first time, noting the small pad, the absence of any bedding and the increasingly cold temperatures. He shivered and rubbed a hand over his arm, suddenly fixing an eye on John's shirtless state.
> 
> Carefully, he lay down beside John, who shifted over slightly to make room. "Lie still," he ordered sharply, when John would have rolled on his side to give Rodney more space. Rodney turned on his side and wriggled up against John, who realized after his initial consternation that Rodney intended to whisper something to him. Why was he not surprised? He gave a mental eye roll.
> 
> And another little shudder when Rodney's breath tickled his neck. "Maybe I can convince them to let us have our packs back tomorrow." His arm bumped up against John's side as he leaned in to speak quietly and John gripped Rodney's wrist firmly and squeezed.
> 
> "No," he whispered fiercely.
> 
> "But why not?" Rodney countered immediately. "If nothing else, you could get another shirt and certainly some antibiotic ointment and a little Tylenol wouldn't go amiss."
> 
> John closed his fingers as hard as he could, turning his head to speak quietly but get his point across. "Rodney. This is going to get much worse before it gets better. Do you understand me? Ask for nothing. Don't show them what your weaknesses are."
> 
> "But," Rodney began to protest.
> 
> John cut him off. "They already know they can get you to cooperate by threatening me. Do you get it?"
> 
> Rodney levered himself up on his elbow, eyes wide with shock as he looked down in John, mouth open in horrified dismay. He would have spoken, only John managed to reach up in time and clamp a hand over Rodney's mouth. Rodney closed his eyes at the contact, opened them again and nodded as John removed his hand. He lay back down beside John, who could hear his increased respiration as Rodney processed what John had said.
> 
> After a moment, he leaned in to speak again. "I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing."
> 
> John squeezed Rodney's forearm again, but this time to say, _'it's okay'_ and _'we'll get out of this somehow'_.
> 
> ****
> 
> Rodney awoke the next morning from fragmented and disturbing dreams to find that he was shivering almost violently, his arms wrapped tightly around himself and his legs pulled up tight to his chest. The thin pallet on which he lay was cold and damp, the wetness of the stone floor beneath seeping through its thin padding easily. He rolled over onto his back with a groan and tried to open his eyes. He managed to get them open a crack, but his right eye swollen almost completely closed from where he'd been struck by the guards yesterday.
> 
> Yesterday.
> 
> All at once the memories came flooding back to him in a sudden, unwelcome and all-encompassing wave. The images which flashed in quick succession through his head – searching through the market with Teyla, encountering the band of strangers with Sheppard, the subsequent fire fight, waking up in the cell alone - made him jerk upright with a start. The final image, which refused to fade as if it was somehow burnt onto the inside of his eyelids, caused his heart to stutter painfully in his chest - John strung and hanging from a hook, unconscious, bound and bloody.
> 
> Rodney turned his head to the side; his eyes suddenly open wide and his thoughts frantic. Where was John? The relief that swept through him as he found John lying beside him on the pallet made him sag forward for a moment, bracing his hands on his outstretched legs and dropping his head between his arms. Once he'd gotten a handle on his wayward emotions, Rodney started to take stock of their position, reminding himself that they were both here, together, so surely everything would be okay in the end. God, and wasn't _that_ just another indication of the impending apocalypse, Dr Rodney McKay relying on platitudes to make him feel better?
> 
> The fact that Teyla and Ronon were not with them, and their captors had not mentioned of any other prisoners, worried Rodney more than he wanted to admit. It wasn't that he doubted their ability to look after themselves, and of course they hadn't been with him and Sheppard when they had been attacked, but they would have been up at the Stargate. Something serious must have happened for them not to have prevented his and John's abduction. Still, there was nothing practical Rodney could do about it, so he concentrated instead on the immediate situation. At least that he had some hope of effecting.
> 
> Rodney stretched his body out carefully, trying to assess just how much damage the guards had done to him last night. All things considered, he was not really in too bad a shape. Of course, he was sore and cold, his ribs ached and, consequently, breathing was painful. In addition, his face was swollen, the skin tight and hot to the touch. Nevertheless, his head was finally clear and he didn't seem to be manifesting any signs of ill-health from either the drug to which he'd been subjected or the food he'd eaten the night before. His hypoglycemia also seemed to be in abeyance for the time being.
> 
> Having determined that he wasn't in any immediate physical risk, Rodney turned his attention back to John. As he looked over John's face and body, he felt his fear return in force. If Rodney was cold, John had to be freezing, dressed in only his BDU trousers and boots. He was lying flat on his back, his injured hands still red and slightly swollen at his sides. Rodney's gaze shifted to John's chest and he winced; John's chest was a nasty mess of welts and cuts, caked clumps of drying blood and the dark red bruising of broken capillaries. Steeling himself, Rodney's eyes moved to John's face. John's eyes were closed and, despite his obviously dire physical state, he appeared to be deeply asleep. He was breathing shallowly through slightly parted lips, which were chapped and broken. Like his chest, his face was covered with bruises and a painful cut on his stubbled chin indicated where the tip of the whip had caught him in the face. Rodney hurt just looking at him, the ache of empathy in his chest surprising him with its intensity.
> 
> The longer Rodney looked at John's battered body, the stronger his feeling grew. He felt his hands curl into fists as the rage swept through him. He recalled the sight of that bastard Torquin flaying John with his whip whilst John was suspended, bound and helpless, and felt himself start to shake. God, how could this have happened? How could he have let this happen? It was all his fault – if he hadn't been so keen to chase those Ancient energy signals, too damn self-centered to let just one mission go without feeling the need to prove his worth... Rodney squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take several deep breaths; somehow he had to remain calm and clear-headed if he and John were to make it through this.
> 
> _'Rodney. This is going to get much worse before it gets better.'_ Rodney recalled John's words of the night before. Although they'd been spoken in a low hiss of pain, they nevertheless held the underlying steel and determination that was exclusively John's - the one that promised that things _would_ get better, so long as they stayed strong and worked together.
> 
> Rodney found himself wringing his hands in distress, unsure as to what best to do. Right, he told himself firmly, together, strong – he could do that... he _would_ do that. John had said that Rodney needed to show him that he could be trusted and Rodney was determined to prove himself worthy of John's trust. John had also said that they were not to show their captors their weaknesses; that they would have to make do with what they had. Rodney couldn't bring himself to regret his offer to Torquin to help them restore their Ancient technology – that had saved John's life – but he would be on his guard not to ask or offer anything more. Besides, if they expected Rodney to work on constructing Ancient shields and weapons so Torquin's promises to his leader could be fulfilled, Rodney would have to be given some amount of access to their systems. Once he had that kind of access, Rodney had no doubt that he would be able to figure out a way for them to escape or get a message to Atlantis.
> 
> That John was seriously injured was a given, but due to the limited options open to him without asking their captors for some supplies, Rodney was at a loss for how to improve John's situation. A quick glance up to the narrow window near the ceiling of their cell indicated that it was around day break, the pale light of early morning barely illuminating their dark cell. The remnants of their meager meal were still on the tray by their pallet and Rodney removed the final roll from it, tearing it in half and stowing one piece in one of the pockets of his BDUs before reaching beside him to do the same for John. A precautionary measure because there was no way of knowing how long it would be before they were fed again.
> 
> John shifted slightly at Rodney's touch. Rodney watched him closely, but he didn't show any signs of waking fully. Judging from the thin film of sweat on his brow, Rodney thought John was probably suffering from a light fever; it was not surprising given the extent of his injuries and their less than sterile surroundings. Their captors had stripped them of all of their supplies, leaving them with nothing more than the clothes they were wearing. Cursing himself for not thinking of it before, and silently admonishing John for not asking, Rodney stripped off his uniform jacket and laid it gently over the top half of John's body, careful to keep the coarse material from scraping over the healing welts on John's chest. It wouldn't keep John warm exactly, but it was better than nothing.
> 
> Turning so he was sitting on his knees facing John, Rodney reached out carefully to run his fingers lightly down the side of John's face. Although his skin felt hot beneath Rodney's fingertips, it didn't feel like he was burning with fever, so Rodney decided to take that as a good sign. He was reluctant, for some reason, to break his contact with John. It was as if he could draw some measure of strength from just touching the man. Thinking back to the night before, when they'd lain side by side, exchanging information in whispered words, Rodney realized that he'd felt the same then. He supposed it wasn't surprising really, John was his team leader and, until very recently, his best friend. It was surely only natural to gain comfort from his proximity.
> 
> Giving in to temptation, Rodney let his hand linger for a moment on John's face, cupping John's jaw gently as his thumb moved lightly across John's slightly parted lips. John's stubble prickled beneath his palm and Rodney wished there was a way that he could soothe John's injuries and take away his pain. Rodney had always hated it when John was injured; it was something that happened far too often for Rodney's peace of mind and he'd spent more nights than he cared to remember at John's bedside in the infirmary, keeping watch with Teyla and Ford. John moaned lightly in his sleep, turning his face further into Rodney's hand which still caressed him. John's breath ghosted warmly across Rodney's skin, making him tingle with awareness. Rodney pulled his hand back almost immediately, inhaling sharply and not quite knowing what to make of his reaction to John's touch.
> 
> "Rodney?" John murmured, his eyes flickering open and catching Rodney's gaze. Rodney was relieved to see that the expression in his hazel eyes was clear and steady.
> 
> "Yeah," he replied thickly, still caught up in an emotion he couldn't quite name. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked quickly, feeling somewhat embarrassed for having touched John while he slept.
> 
> John looked down over his body, still covered with Rodney's jacket, and winced. "Not so hot," he admitted reluctantly. Rodney knew John well enough to realize that the fact that John would confess that much meant that he really was suffering considerably.
> 
> "Hang on," Rodney said, getting awkwardly to his feet and making his way over to the basin of water to scoop out a bowlful. "Here," he said a he returned, sitting back down stiffly beside John, one hand clutching his bruised ribs as he did so. John made as if to sit up, but then gasped, a look of pain crossing his features as he tried to move.
> 
> "John, don't," Rodney cried out. "For goodness sake, you were beaten half to death yesterday. That means that you should try to have at least some small modicum of common sense and do not move!" He huffed in exasperation as he set the water to the side for a moment so he could help John. "Lie still," he snapped. "If you insist upon sitting up, at least let me help you. Your ribs are probably broken and god only knows what kinds of infectious alien bacteria have already set up their homes in your broken skin."
> 
> "I'm fine," John groused, but Rodney noticed that he did lie still and let Rodney approach him without complaint. "Just a little sore, is all," he quipped lightly, even though the skin around his eyes was lined with tension.
> 
> Rodney bent carefully over John's prone body and slid one arm beneath John's shoulders, wrapping the other one around John's chest. He ignored the pain in his ribs and back, concentrating instead on John. The skin of John's back was smooth and warm, and the sensation of it felt so good against Rodney's hands that he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. It took John turning towards him, his breath brushing over Rodney's face as he softly murmured "Rodney" for Rodney to recollect himself enough to realize that he was essentially holding John in a close embrace. He forced himself to move back and put a little more space between their bodies, carefully levering John upwards as he did so and shifting John so he could rest his back against the wall behind him.
> 
> Quickly averting his eyes, Rodney reached out for the water and placed it in John's hands. As he did so, he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment for the second time that morning. When he was finally able to look up into John's face, instead of the censure he'd been expecting, he found John was looking at him with an expression on his face that Rodney couldn't interpret. They simply looked at each other for a few beats, some silent communication occurring between them that Rodney's conscious mind shied away from trying to interpret. After a while John moved his arm so that he could carefully put the bowl back down on the floor, his eyes never leaving Rodney's face. Then, very deliberately, he started to reach his hand out towards Rodney.
> 
> Just then the door of the cell swung open with an almighty crash and Rodney very nearly jumped out of his skin. He began to turn towards the door, but stopped when he felt John's hand make contact with the bare skin of his forearm, John's fingers grasping his skin firmly and communicating his urgency. Rodney swung his head back round to meet John's gaze immediately. John looked at him with fierce concentration burning in his eyes and Rodney felt John's strength and determination to survive flood through their physical connection, filling him with hope.
> 
> "Be careful, Rodney," John said, as the sound of booted footsteps on the stone floor heralded the entrance of their guards. "Don't do anything to provoke them, you hear me?"
> 
> Rodney only had time to nod once in reply before the two guards from the night before – the young kid and the cruel older man – were upon them. Rodney cringed internally even as he started to move instinctively in front of John, trying to protect him should the two imbeciles decide to start getting loose with the kicks again.
> 
> "What a touching sight," came the coolly sarcastic sneer of Torquin from the doorway. "But ultimately useless, of course. Get him up," he ordered his men.
> 
> The guards obeyed at once, each one taking a firm hold of Rodney's arms and hauling him to his feet. Rodney almost started to struggle against them, but then his eyes met John's and he subsided, allowing them to pull him to his feet without protest. Once standing, he shook off their restraining arms and, mindful of John's warning, turned to face Torquin.
> 
> "Well?" Rodney asked, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin in challenge. "Are you going to show me to the lab or not?"
> 
> Torquin raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth twisting in the parody of a smile. "So eager, Dr. McKay. Just the quality I like to see in my... guests." His cool eyes then flickered to where John sat on the pallet and Rodney had to clench his hands into fists in order to resist the temptation to look back as well. Torquin must have caught Rodney's frustrated desire because he glanced back to Rodney and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.
> 
> "Yes," he said thoughtfully, tapping the recording device on his chest as he continued. "I see that we may well have found the best method of ensuring your cooperation." He nodded once towards the guards, one of whom grabbed Rodney and turned him back around to face John while the other moved over to John and struck him once across the face with an open hand. The sound of the blow echoed through the cell, but John didn't make a sound. Rodney found himself biting down hard on his lip to remain silent as well, but couldn't help himself from jerking against the restraining hands of the guard as John's head sunk down onto his chest and he appeared to lose consciousness again.
> 
> "He will remain here for the day, Dr. McKay, whilst you begin work on the Ancient technology in the lab," Torquin said impassively as he came up alongside Rodney, looking down at John. "You need not fear for his safety, however, _that_ is entirely in your hands – I trust we understand one another."
> 
> Rodney nodded once but remained silent. John had been right, he thought as he followed the guards out of the cell and down to the lab leaving Torquin alone with John, this was a lot worse.
> 
> ****
> 
> Rodney held his silence as the guards led him through the corridors of the holding facility, stoically ignoring their smirking faces as he reminded himself of John's words. Although his memories of the previous day were decidedly patchy, it seemed like he was being led directly to the Ancient lab he'd been shown the night before. As per John's instructions, he kept a sharp lookout for anything that might prove useful or informative. Unfortunately, the long grey corridors yielded no more information than they had before. Yet, as he studied them, Rodney became convinced that this part of the mountain-top settlement was not Ancient in origin; neither the material with which the corridors were constructed nor the bright light fixtures positioned at regular intervals were in any way reminiscent of the Ancient design with which he was familiar. He wondered what the rest of the compound was like – if whether other sections had the high stained glass windows and the soft green walls of Atlantis.
> 
> These observations raised the question of the Ancient lab – was it really an Ancient lab or merely a collection of Ancient artifacts obtained by Torquin and his equally unsavory associates? Indeed, the lack of ATA gene carriers he noticed yesterday would make in unlikely that the ordinary operations of the base were carried out using any type of Ancient equipment. Well, he would find out soon enough he supposed. The guards came to a halt outside the lab, flanking Rodney on either side as one of them moved forward to unlock the door using a decidedly un-Ancient key. He then pushed the door open while the other guard put his hand on Rodney's back and shoved him into the room.
> 
> "Hey," Rodney started to complain as he stumbled into the room, turning to scowl at the guards, promptly forgetting his determination to remain silent. The older, heavyset man who had shoved him merely grinned evilly at him and reached for the ominous looking baton hanging form his uniform belt. Rodney felt his eyes widen with fear and snapped his mouth shut at once, holding his hands out in front of him to ward off the approaching guard.
> 
> "Causing trouble already are we, Dr McKay?" Torquin's smooth voice came from the doorway. "I hope you realize quite how unwise that is... and not merely for your own safety."
> 
> "No... ah, no," Rodney stuttered quickly, his stomach twisting at the thought of what more might happen to John as a result of his inability to keep his mouth shut.
> 
> "Good," Torquin replied as he strolled casually into the room, indicating to the guards that they should stand down with a careless flick of his hand. "So, as to the order of the day," he continued as he approached Rodney. "I believe you made some promises about your prowess with Ancient technology. As I explained yesterday, that is something in which I have a most particular interest." Torquin stopped directly in front of Rodney, his cold grey eyes regarding him in a calculating manner, as if debating Rodney's relative worth.
> 
> Rodney shivered. "Yes," he answered shortly, tilting his chin up so he could return Torquin's gaze and steeling himself not to show too much of his fear. "I am an expert in Ancient technology."
> 
> Torquin remained silent for a few moments, before lifting an eyebrow. "We shall see," he replied, a cruel little smile twisting his thin lips. He turned brusquely away from Rodney then and moved further into the lab. "I have collected a large number of Ancient devices over the years, wouldn't you say, Dr. McKay?" he said, spreading his arms out to encompass the entire room.
> 
> Rodney slowly turned in place, his eyes running over every detail of the room. The lab was a decent size, square with grey walls and bright lights to match the corridor. There were three small windows at the far end, each big enough to let in a small amount of light, but not large enough to get a proper view. They were set high in the wall and below them, embedded into the wall itself, was a large view screen. A series of computer terminals and consoles lined the walls to either side of Rodney and there were three large tables spaced evenly across the centre of the room. It didn't look like any of the Ancient labs on Atlantis, but neither did it look like a random collection of devices procured for numerous sources. Something about the lay-out of the room – the consoles, the single large view screen, the wide high benches – struck a familiar chord with Rodney, although he was at a temporary loss to say what exactly it was.
> 
> His eyes narrowed as his gaze finally returned to Torquin; this was a test. "No," he answered at last. "You didn't collect these devices – this room was set out like this. It's a complete lab – the consoles, design, everything – matches." He pursed his lips as he considered the room again, it certainly didn't look like the traditional Ancient layout he had encountered. Plus, it was nothing like Atlantis, but then again, Atlantis was but one Ancient city in an entire galaxy that the Ancients had once called their own. "It's a testing centre," he said as realization struck and he recalled a year he'd spent as a doctoral student working at CERN, the particle accelerator in Geneva. "They were testing something here – something new and experimental, far away from any of their other settlements or, indeed, this planet's stargate."
> 
> "Very good, Doctor," Torquin drawled, watching Rodney closely as he leant back against the middle bench. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "And what would you say the purpose of this facility actually is, then? In your _expert_ opinion?" he asked.
> 
> Never one to back down from a challenge to his expertise, Rodney walked over to what appeared to be the main data console on the right hand side of the room and proceeded to boot it up. It reacted to his gene, if somewhat sluggishly, and he was able to activate it and call up the overall system protocols without too much difficulty. He scanned through the readout quickly, picking up the odd reference he recognized, but much of it was new to him. He shook his head to himself and frowned before moving to the other side of the room and repeating the procedure on the main console in that block of terminals.
> 
> The more he read, the more fascinated he became. His initial conclusions appeared to be correct – the file storage systems contained literally thousands of entries, reams upon reams of raw data amassed during surely what must have been years of exceedingly thorough experimentation. As he probed further, a picture of what had gone on here started to coalesce in his mind. The entire compound appeared to have been built as a test ground for cutting-edge Ancient equipment – everything from weapons and shielding, to hyperdrives and space-craft. It made sense, Rodney supposed, given the remote location of the base, set high up in the mountains and a not inconsiderable distance from the stargate. What puzzled him slightly was when the base had been built – the architecture and design of the base itself seemed to indicate it pre-dated Atlantis, as the style was much more basic and austere. However, that could merely be a product of purpose – Atlantis was very much a city in which people lived, this base was much more likely to have been an outpost where only the most dedicated researchers worked.
> 
> "Well?" Torquin prompted sharply.
> 
> Rodney jumped back from the monitor with a start, having forgotten Torquin's presence so engrossed had he become in the data readouts. He blinked and, as he turned to face Torquin, tried to work out exactly how much of his discoveries he should reveal – how much of it Torquin already knew. "Well, there's an awful lot here," he hedged. "And you've hardly given me sufficient time to get a proper overview of everything. But," he continued quickly, lest Torquin take his prevarication as a lack of understanding, "it appears that all of this is a facility the Ancients used for the early stage development of their technology."
> 
> Torquin nodded in approval. "So, perhaps you weren't exaggerating about your expertise after all," he said. "That is precisely what our scientists have been able to establish. "Weapons," he snapped, "and shields – those are what our leader has ordered me to deliver to him upon his arrival to inspect this part of his empire. You will make these your priority – I expect to see results within the week, or both you and your friend will suffer the consequences of your failure. Do we understand each other?"
> 
> Rodney nodded.
> 
> "Excellent," Torquin said with an evil smile. "Watch him closely," he ordered the guards as he swept out of the room. "If he causes you any trouble, alert me immediately. I am very much looking forward to... testing the mettle of his companion yet further."
> 
> Rodney shuddered at the threat and quickly turned back to the data console. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers over the keypads while he gathered his thoughts, an image of John flashing briefly across his mind – he would not fail him. Thus determined, Rodney got to work.
> 
> ****
> 
> When Rodney was escorted back to their cell that evening, he was so tired he could barely manage to walk in a straight line. He'd spent the day in an unremitting state of emotional upheaval – constantly terrified for his very life, enthralled in the complex protocols he was slowly uncovering, worried sick about what was happening to John, and determined to learn as much as possible so that Torquin would be convinced of his worth and so leave John alone. He'd been fed sufficiently to keep his hypoglycemia at bay and was more or less left to his own devices in the lab. However, he had been continually plagued by his fears for John's safety and his growing concern about the dire nature of their situation.
> 
> The two guards had been a constant presence at his side all day, although there had obviously been a shift change at some point because the two men he'd encountered when he'd first regained consciousness that morning had disappeared to be replaced by two new faces, neither of whom was any less intimidating. They had hovered menacingly as he worked, standing so they were just visible in his peripheral vision with their hands clenched around batons, expressions threatening, a constant reminder of the peril both Rodney and John were in if Rodney didn't produce the expected results. The new pair was with him still, one in front of him and one behind him as they made their way back through the grim corridors towards the cells.
> 
> His progress that day had been slow, and that worried him. Even though he had no intention of actually delivering a functioning weapon or shield to Torquin and his exalted leader, he knew he had to show some progress to keep them happy – his and Sheppard's continued survival depended on it. The tools and datapads that had been made available to him were all fairly basic, and even his access to the lab's Ancient database had been largely curtailed – something which had not only proved to be detrimental to his progress, but also to him finding a way to orchestrate their escape.
> 
> Rodney had tried to explain to his guards that if they expected him to make any progress at all in restoring the outpost's shielding and weapons arsenal, he would need to have complete access to their computer systems. His requests had been met with silence and, when he'd pushed the point and demanded to speak to Torquin directly, he'd been struck hard across the face by one of the guards. The blow hadn't knocked him unconscious, but it had been a close thing. As he'd lain on the floor of the lab, trying to regain his breath and blink the world back into focus, the elder guard had leant over him, shoving his knee painfully into Rodney's lower back and whispering threateningly in his ear.
> 
> "Any more from you and it'll be your companion who pays for it," he had sneered. "Pay for it even more," he'd added as he climbed off Rodney and ordered, "Now get up and get back to work."
> 
> It was that 'even more' that had scared Rodney the most, far more than the physical violence he'd suffered himself. Just what exactly had they been doing to John all day? Was the beating he'd suffered upon their arrival not enough? John had been so weak that night – his body shaking and obviously in great pain, even though he'd done his best to hide his suffering. Rodney would never understand John's obsession with playing the hero, despite the odds being constantly stacked against him. Did he not realize how vitally important _he_ was to Atlantis and every single person on the expedition?
> 
> Rodney shook his head in amazement as he tried to envisage what life in Pegasus would be like without John Sheppard. It was simply unthinkable. He knew Elizabeth had been forced to fight hard with the IOA and the SGC in order to keep John as the expedition's military commander, but Rodney had never really seriously entertained the possibility that she would not be successful. The man was invaluable to the Atlantean expedition - anyone with half a wit of sense could see that - and it was not because of his strong ATA gene either. Rather, it was the man himself who was so important – with his courage, determination, and commitment, he had become their hero, the embodiment of the spirit with which they all fought. Even Rodney, with his general dislike for anything as tawdry as hero-worship, had to admit that John was special.
> 
> Rodney's stomach churned nervously as they turned the final corner that would lead them to the cell, desperately hoping that Torquin's assessment of his progress that day was positive enough to spare John further torture. The guards unlocked the door to the cell and shoved Rodney inside. Rodney stumbled a little upon his entry, the vast difference in illumination throwing him momentarily, but he managed to remain upright as the door slammed shut behind him. Blinking, he peered into the darkness, waiting for his vision to grow accustomed to the gloom.
> 
> "Rodney?" John's voice called and Rodney let out a relieved breath as he spotted John sitting on the pallet, still clad in Rodney's jacket, but looking no worse than he had that morning. "How you doing, buddy?"
> 
> "Well," Rodney said. "I've been shot at, kidnapped, drugged, tortured, threatened and am now expect to produce weapons and a whole host of other highly dangerous devices for said torturing kidnappers – so, all in all, I'm just dandy." Rodney finished sarcastically as he shuffled over towards John and promptly collapsed down beside him with a sigh of relief.
> 
> He heard John give a huff of laughter in response. "I hear ya," he drawled. "It's not exactly been a barrel of laughs for me either."
> 
> Rodney winced. "Sorry," he muttered to John. "Just, god, what a day," he finished on a groan, letting his head fall back against the wall and his eyes drift closed. After a few minutes of peaceful silence Rodney opened his eyes and turned his head to look at John. He lowered his voice, mindful of the bugs, and quickly filled John in on what he had uncovered about the base that day.
> 
> "So, you eaten?" John asked aloud when Rodney had finished, indicating with a nod of his head that Rodney should reply in kind.
> 
> "Yeah," Rodney responded, realizing that anyone who might be eavesdropping may have become suspicious of the prolonged silence. "More delightful bread and cheese. You?"
> 
> "Same," John replied, shifting a little closer to Rodney, letting out a grunt of pain as he did so.
> 
> Upon hearing that, Rodney turned towards John. "Are you really okay?" he asked in concern, his eyes running over John's face and then traveling down to John's chest, which was now obscured by his own jacket. "They... um... that is, Torquin, he... you know... said he might come back and _hurt_ you again...and I just... I couldn't bear it if-"
> 
> "Rodney," John cut in, "I'm fine, really. No one's come near me all day." John's gaze remained steady on Rodney's as he spoke, but their proximity meant that Rodney could see that his features were still tight and pinched with discomfort.
> 
> Before he could think through his actions, Rodney reached out to touch John's face with his hand, trailing his fingers over John's brow and then slowly down over one cheek. John's breath caught and his mouth opened on a seemingly involuntary gasp at Rodney's touch. With a start, Rodney realized what he was doing and made to draw his hand back, but before he could do so, John's eyes drifted closed and some of the tightness of his features eased. Just like he had that morning, John turned his face into Rodney touch, the movement causing his parted lips to drag wetly across the sensitive skin of Rodney's palm. This time it was Rodney who gasped, his eyes lifting from John's mouth to his eyes where he was instantly caught by John's dark hazel gaze.
> 
> John's skin was hot to the touch, but his eyes were clear of fever or pain. Rather they were darkened by a different emotion entirely. "John?" he asked, still not understanding. "What...? I mean, are you sure you're...? Just... "
> 
> "Shh, it's okay; _I'm_ okay," John hushed him gently, his breath skidding over Rodney's skin and making Rodney shudder. "C'mere," he murmured, catching Rodney's right hand with left, linking their fingers together as he brought their joined hands down to rest in his lap. John then reached out with his right hand to pull Rodney closer to him, his arm wrapping tightly about Rodney's shoulders.
> 
> As if in a daze, Rodney leaned into John's embrace and let John settle him at his side. The new position left them sitting side-by-side, their bodies pressed close together with John holding Rodney to him with his right arm draped over Rodney's shoulders and their clasped hands resting on John's right thigh. John's body was a mass of hard muscle and heat down the entire left side of Rodney's body and Rodney found himself reacting mindlessly to the comfort and pleasure of their closeness. It was like the feelings he'd had that morning when he'd held John, only so much better because now it was John who was holding him.
> 
> All of a sudden, Rodney felt the barriers he'd been using all day to hold back his emotions start to buckle and then finally break. The feelings of fear and guilt that swept through him threaten to swamp him completely and he started to shake. He felt John's hand grasp his shoulder even tighter and John's strength seemed to flow through their physical connection, allowing Rodney to weather the worst of it. His head fell to the side, coming to rest on John's shoulder and he felt John's face turn towards him as he burrowed further into the safety of John's embrace.
> 
> When his shaking subsided, he raised his head to look at John, feeling his face flush with shame at just how badly he'd lost control. "Sorry-" he started to apologize, but stopped when he saw the expression on John's face. If anything, John looked just as wrecked as Rodney felt – his cool, calm, 'Colonel' demeanor fraying at the edges, the pain and despair seeping to the surface just as they had done in Rodney. Suddenly Rodney realized that John needed this connection just as much as he did and that John must be experiencing exactly the same fears and worries with which he was plagued.
> 
> "We're going to get out of here," he said firmly, tilting his head forward again so he could whisper the words into John's ear. "I've got access to the computer systems – I'll find a way to break through the security protocols and we'll both escape."
> 
> He heard John give a little huff of laughter. "That's the spirit, Rodney," he replied. "Just when did you become such an optimist?"
> 
> "Oh, around about the same time you developed your talent for continually beating all the odds - hiveships and nuclear warheads notwithstanding," Rodney replied.
> 
> "Yeah, well," John said. "Let's just hope that run of luck continues."
> 
> Rodney hummed in agreement, seeing John's miraculous return from certain death in his mind's eye – plucked at the last moment from the puddlejumper-turned-bomb by the _Daedalus_. The image of the puddlejumper got him thinking about some of the experimental schematics he'd come across today.
> 
> "Hey," he said, knowing that this was something practically guaranteed to cheer John up. "You know, one of the projects with which the scientists of this base were experimenting was the design of a new range of small spacecrafts."
> 
> "Really?" John asked too loudly, his eyes lightening with anticipation. "Like the jumpers?"
> 
> "Shh!" Rodney hissed, glaring at him. "Yes, really – and no, not like the jumpers, more like some sort of glider. They're considerably smaller and the data seems to indicate that they are designed to be faster and far more maneuverable, especially in planetary atmospheres."
> 
> "Cool," John breathed.
> 
> "Very," Rodney replied. "Now be quiet," he snapped. "I'll see what more I can learn when I'm next in the lab. Besides, I've got to start to show some progress on something or else Torquin will be suspicious."
> 
> "Do you think maybe we can sneak one out of here when we escape?" John asked.
> 
> Rodney snorted at John's almost childlike fascination with anything capable of flight, amused despite himself. "Not without anyone noticing," he replied. "Although, now that I think about it, using one of the prototypes is probably going to be the only way we're ever going to be able to get down from this mountain."
> 
> John grinned. "Sounds like the beginnings of an escape plan there, McKay," he said.
> 
> "Yes, well," Rodney sniffed. "I've obviously been spending too much time around the military. I'll leave the rest of the details to you, shall I, Colonel?"
> 
> John nodded and shifted slightly, his movements drawing Rodney's attention back to the fact that they were still sitting on the pallet, their arms wrapped around each other.
> 
> "Well," Rodney said awkwardly, forcing himself to pull his hand out of John's, certain that it was time for him to move away. "I should probably let you get some sleep. Sorry for, you know, all the... ah... inappropriate touching," he finished nervously, knowing that his face was bright red with embarrassment.
> 
> Beside him, Rodney felt John go absolutely still, his body tensing and his face going carefully blank. He then licked his lips nervously and his eyes flickered quickly to Rodney's and then away again just as fast. "I... ah, you don't have to move," he said slowly. "Not if you don't want to. We're in a rough situation, we need to make the most of anything that can make things here more ... um... bearable."
> 
> Rodney blinked as he considered John's words – he _did_ like being close to John like this, and didn't want to have to pull away from the warmth and the comfort John offered. "Oh," he said. "That's ... ah, that's good to know because I... um..." he broke off his babble abruptly when he saw John wince in pain. With a start he realized that his hand had come up to rest in the centre of John's injured chest. He pulled back, immediately contrite, "Sorry, I must be hurting you."
> 
> Instead of releasing him, John merely shook his head and started to move, rearranging himself and Rodney so that they were lying on their sides on the pallet, facing one another. Rodney watched in bewilderment as John reached and caught Rodney's hand, bringing it up to his face.
> 
> "You didn't hurt me," he said softly. "It's okay, you know."
> 
> "Oh, okay," Rodney repeated in the same quiet tone, entirely absorbed by the sensation of John's cheek under his hand. Acting on impulse, he stroked his fingers over John's face and then ran his thumb over the seam of John's lips. John's lips parted and Rodney felt the tip of John's tongue slide wetly over the pad of his thumb. Rodney gasped as the pleasure shot straight through his body to his cock, causing it to lengthen in his pants. John's eyes darkened yet further at the sound and he reached out to touch Rodney's face in return, pulling him closer. Rodney's hand fell to clutch at John's shoulder as John brought their lips together for the first time.
> 
> The kiss was soft at first, nothing more than a dry brush of lips and a gentle exchange of breath. Yet even that made Rodney's body fill with pleasure, causing him to chase after John's mouth as John started to draw back. The second time their lips met, the kiss was firmer and more sure. John's mouth opened under Rodney's and Rodney moaned softly as he felt the first tentative brush of John's tongue against his lips.
> 
> Heat exploded between them as their mouths opened fully and the kiss turned into a deep, wet glide of tongues. Rodney's hand tightened on John's shoulder and he felt John's hand slide open-palmed down over his chest and belly to come to rest on the bulge of his cock. He groaned as John cupped his erection, his hips thrusting forward in a desperate attempt to get more. Good, Rodney thought in a lust-filled daze, this felt so good – John felt so good. He wanted more. Forcing himself to pull back, Rodney quickly moved his hand from John's shoulder to the zipper of his jacket, pulling it down carefully to bare John's torso to his gaze. He frowned as he was once again faced with the extent of John's injuries, but John soon distracted him with another heated kiss. Recalling how good John's hand had felt on his cock, he moved his own hand down to scrabble at the buttons of John's BDUs. John's hands soon joined his, before John batted his hands away entirely, and undid his trousers himself.
> 
> "You too," John gasped, and together they stripped off their upper garments and pushed down their pants.
> 
> Rodney shivered as his cock was exposed to the open air, but when he turned back to John, it was to find John watching him with focused intensity. Heat suffused his body and his cock pulsed in reaction. John licked his lips and Rodney surged forward, cupping John's jaw, suddenly desperate to taste John again. He kissed John almost desperately, trying to take away all his hurt – to free him, albeit briefly, from their horrid cell and the pain of his injuries. His hand moved from John's face, down over his shoulder and arms, to his cock. John groaned at the first tentative brush of Rodney's fingers against his dick and, emboldened by his response, Rodney wrapped his hand around John. He felt amazing, hot and hard and _alive_ in Rodney's grip. Slowly, Rodney started to move his hand, learning the feel of John's length against his palm. He tightened his grip and lost himself in the heady sensation of giving John pleasure.
> 
> When John started to moan almost continuously into Rodney's mouth, Rodney pulled back so he could watch. In the dim light of the cell, open-mouthed and breathing heavily with his own need, Rodney became entranced as John threw his head back on a silent scream. The muscles and sinews of John's neck and chest stood out in sharp relief as his back arched and he thrust his hips forward once more into the tight channel of Rodney's fist. His cock pulsed heavily in Rodney's grip, jets of hot come spurting up on to his belly and spilling thickly over Rodney's fingers. Rodney pumped John's dick a few more times as John twitched and jerked through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Rodney felt his own dick twitch and spurt a little in sympathy and his hips bucked forwards involuntarily.
> 
> John looked gorgeous, spread out on the pallet, sweat and come pooling on his skin, his mouth wet and open as his chest heaved as he collected himself. As if feeling the weight of Rodney's gaze, he opened heavy lidded eyes to stare hungrily at Rodney, his arms reaching out to drag Rodney mouth down to his.
> 
> "My turn," he growled as he surged up to kiss Rodney deeply, his tongue thrusting inside and making Rodney's head spin and his cock throb. Rodney groaned as John reached down and wrapped his hand firmly around Rodney's aching shaft. Still kissing, John pushed at Rodney's shoulders with his other hand. He moved them so that their positions were reversed and it was Rodney who was lying on his back with John bending over him, propped up on one arm.
> 
> John started jacking him slowly, the tempo of his hand matching the steady thrusting of his tongue. It didn't take long before Rodney's hips were moving with the same rhythm, bucking upwards into John's firm grip. John's mouth moved from Rodney's lips to lick a wet path down his throat. Rodney arched backwards, exposing his throat to John's caress and softly moaning his pleasure low into the darkness. When John's mouth moved down further, closing over one of Rodney's nipples, Rodney's moan became a cry. John laved the sensitive tip over and over again, before proceeding to suck it into his mouth.
> 
> "Oh, please, John, please," Rodney begged, so close to the edge now that it wouldn't take much to send him spinning off into ecstasy.
> 
> John's hand started moving faster, his thumb coming up to slide wetly over the tip of Rodney's leaking cock before spreading the wetness slickly over the rest of the shaft. Rodney felt his balls draw up tight to his body when John jerked hard on the next stroke, twisting his wrist as he slid down Rodney's length. Rodney closed his eyes at the barrage of sensation that shot through him. A couple more pulls and he was coming, groaning aloud as he spilled helplessly over John's hand.
> 
> Rodney lay panting, little ripples of pleasure still running through his body. When he opened his eyes, he found John leaning over him, a small smirk on his features. Rodney rolled his eyes and then looked down at the mess they'd made with a grimace. They cleaned up as best they could in the dark, making quick use of the water and then fumbling back into their clothing. They then lay back down, side by side but no longer touching.
> 
> "So," Rodney said, uncertain of what precisely he was going to say, but thinking that something _should_ be said.
> 
> "Rodney." John's voice interrupted him and Rodney felt John shift, moving across the pallet so that he was plastered to Rodney's side. "Go to sleep."
> 
> Rodney's body relaxed almost immediately, responding to the warmth of both John's body and voice. Feeling more at home that he ever thought he could do in a cold, alien prison cell, Rodney slept.
> 
> ****
> 
> In sharp contrast to the previous morning, Rodney awoke feeling both warm and comforted. He opened his eyes and blinked the world into focus, surprised to find himself greeted by the sight of John's face mere inches from his own. John was still fast asleep, snoring softly and drooling a little from one corner of his mouth. A small part of Rodney thought that he should probably be freaking out over this recent development in his relationship with John, but a far larger part – the one that had learned early on to adapt to all the crazy shit that Pegasus threw at them on a daily basis – urged him to accept what had happened as the gift it so obviously was. He thought back to Teyla's words at the market – _there is very little that can be permanent here_ \- all the more reason to live in the few brief moments of peace that life offered. It was a sentiment John had expressed only last night - _we need to make the most of anything that can make things more bearable_. As Rodney contemplated the still-sleeping John, who looking strangely vulnerable with his bruised face relaxed in sleep, he came to the conclusion that this could indeed make the very worst of situations bearable.
> 
> The sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside the cell made him freeze, his stomach twisting with dread. John's eyes snapped open at once, his attention going directly to the door. Rodney held his breath, expecting the door to slam open at any minute and Torquin to come striding through. However, the footsteps continued on past their door and then faded away into the distance. Rodney let out a sigh of relief, they were safe for now.
> 
> "Hey," he said, turning back to John and feeling a little awkward. However, he needed to get some sense of connection with John before their fragile peace was broken by the actual arrival of their guards.
> 
> At the sound of his voice, John turned back to Rodney. "Hey," he echoed, looking faintly embarrassed as well. "You okay?"
> 
> "Yeah," Rodney replied, surprised by the fact that he truly meant it. "You? How's your chest?"
> 
> John's brows drew together as he considered the question. "Better," he replied at last. "Still hurts like a hell, of course, but it _is_ better."
> 
> Rodney nodded. "Good," he said, "good. Look, I'm going to see what more I can find about those gliders I told you about. If I can get a handle on their weapons systems, I might be able to make a convincing enough case to our friend Torquin for you to come down to the lab with me. You know, because of your gene."
> 
> "You still planning there, Rodney?" John asked as he arched an eyebrow at him.
> 
> "And what if I am," Rodney replied breezily. "You seemed to appreciate my efforts last night."
> 
> John's eyes darkened at that. "Indeed I did," he drawled. "The plan's not half bad either."
> 
> Rodney flushed, but was saved by replying the return of the footsteps which, this time, came to a halt right outside.
> 
> "Just be careful," John cautioned him, leaning forward to brush Rodney's lips lightly with his own before the door was swung open and Torquin strode into the room.
> 
> ****
> 
> The following few days merged together into an incoherent blur in Rodney's mind. He spent his days locked in the lab, under a constant barrage of threats and demands. At the end of each day, Torquin would arrive to quiz him on his progress. Each time he carried the whip he'd used to beat John coiled up on his belt; Rodney recognized its presence for the threat it was. He'd been concentrating his efforts on trying to get to grips with the prototype spacecraft schematics, reasoning that each one was armed with precisely the types of technology in which Torquin was interested. It was fascinating work, something Rodney would have enjoyed immensely were it not for the circumstances. His review of the database had uncovered the existence of a half-completed prototype somewhere in the compound, and had convinced Torquin that his best bet for having both fully functioning weapons and shielding technology ready to show his leader when he arrived.
> 
> The nights were something else entirely. At the end of each day Rodney was returned to the cell, half-frazzled from fear and overwork, to find John there waiting for him. Although they never spoke of it directly, Rodney knew that John was being subjected to further beatings by the guards. His injuries were never as severe as those he'd received at Torquin's hand, but Rodney could not miss the fresh bruising that appeared on John's skin nor the way John would sometimes grimace in pain when Rodney inadvertently touched a tender area.
> 
> They touched a lot. In the cover of darkness when the reality of their situation was locked outside the four walls of their cell, they would lose themselves in each other. Hands clutching, lips clinging, and hips thrusting as they sought just a brief flash of pleasure to light their otherwise bleak situation. They didn't talk about any of that either.
> 
> Thus far they had been lucky; Torquin had not had cause to find any major fault with either Rodney's work or with their behavior. Nevertheless, as the days drew on, Rodney couldn't help but wonder when it was all going to go to hell or if they would ever be able to make their escape and find their way home.
> 
> ****
> 
>  
> 
> John knew Torquin wasn't finished with him, not by a long shot. He suspected the ensuing days when he was left alone in the cell was meant to soften him up, make him start to wonder when the other shoe would fall, to worry if _today_ would be the day that Torquin returned for him. As prisoner management techniques went, John had to admit it wasn't half-bad. Despite his injuries, the prolonged inactivity was increasingly frustrating for one used to being physically on the go all the time, and it had the added bonus of fostering the whispering suspicion that he was never going to leave this cell alive. John wasn't very good at doing nothing. One morning after Rodney had left for the day, John realized with a start that he both dreaded and longed for Torquin to come for him, and how twisted was _that_?
> 
> That was not to say he was entirely left alone. The older soldier, whom John learned was called Ramos, would periodically drop by the cell at odd hours of the day. Most days he showed up shortly after a mid-morning klaxon sounded. There was another such klaxon in the late afternoon; John had come to believe they represented shift changes after speaking with Rodney about it.
> 
> Ramos never came alone, which told John something about the man right there. Sometimes he brought the young kid that reminded John of Ford, but usually he came with a couple of tough, older guards like himself. The other men sometimes joined in with Ramos' taunting sneers, but John noticed that one usually kept watch on the door as Ramos and his pal tried to provoke John into a fight. They never seemed to get it; John was not taking the first swing. Eventually one of them would try to land a punch, then John would block the strike and protect his body as best he could, all the while telling himself to make defensive moves only, not to strike back. Not yet. The way they would sometimes suddenly break off their torment and hurry away at a warning from the guard at the door told John that these beatings weren't authorized. He stored that information away for further use.
> 
> Several of his wounds were inflamed and angry, the edges of torn flesh puffy and curling, hot to the touch. For the most part however, the whip marks were beginning to heal. He downgraded Rodney's original assessment of probable broken ribs to merely cracked, but for a couple of days after his initial interrogation and beating, he'd noted a tinge of blood in his urine. He suspected one of his kidneys had taken a direct hit during the punching-fest he'd endured. He kept those details from Rodney.
> 
> Rodney for the most part seemed to be getting better treatment than him, as befitting his scientific status, but John could still recall the surge of fresh anger he'd felt that first night when Rodney had returned to the cell and there was new bruising developing across his already battered face. Rodney hadn't signed up for this when he joined the Pegasus expedition. He wasn't a soldier, damn it. It was John's job to protect him and the other civilian members of the expedition and here _Rodney_ was the one taking care of him in this situation. The amusing irony of that did not compensate for the increasingly smoldering rage he felt at the whole situation. He was angry at Torquin, at Ramos, sometimes even at Rodney but most of all himself for having gotten the two of them into this mess.
> 
> So it was with a sense of relief when Ramos and his young sidekick came to retrieve John one afternoon from his cell. _It's about goddamned time_. The maze of identical corridors was worse than a Hive ship for trying to memorize, but John paid careful attention to their course as he was frog-marched down the hallways. His brain registered that they passed the original flogging room without stopping, even as he felt Ramos tighten his grip on John's arm and give a soft laugh in passing.
> 
> The room they entered was completely different from the room in which John had first been interrogated, and he sensed that it was a deliberate choice. Torquin was seated at a large desk in what appeared to be his office, a computer console to one side, a stack of reports sitting in front of him, a steaming mug filled with some dark, fragrant beverage perched on the corner of the desktop. It all looked so normal. John felt as though he'd been called in to speak with his commanding officer and, with sudden illumination, he realized that the set-up had been carefully crafted to have just that effect.
> 
> John's guards took up flanking positions by the door. Along the far wall, a long, utilitarian table stood underneath a window. For the first time in days, the sun appeared to be shining outside. The light spilled into the room, highlighting dust motes as they spun lazily in the beam, revealing the contents of both Rodney's and John's packs spread out on the table. _Uh-oh, here we go_.
> 
> "Ah, Colonel Sheppard, so glad you could join us." Torquin's urbanity was well-oiled, no doubt spiffed up and escorted out just for the occasion. John did not react to the use of his name and rank. Most likely Rodney had referred to him in this manner and Torquin meant to taunt him with the uncertainty of wondering how much his captors knew about him and just how Torquin had received his information.
> 
> "Base Leader Torquin." John acknowledged easily, as though it was Torquin who had just dropped by to visit _him_. Two could play this game.
> 
> A small smile played across Torquin's features at John's response. He stood up and moved around from behind his desk. "So, how are you enjoying your accommodations?"
> 
> John followed Torquin's movement with his eyes before allowing himself a little shrug. "I doubt I'll be listing them in my Pegasus travel guide."
> 
> Torquin gave a short laugh as he came to a halt in front of John. "You intrigue me, Colonel, you really do."
> 
> John let him have the sarcastic version of his trademark half-smile. "We aim to please."
> 
> "Oh, I certainly hope so, Colonel," Torquin said smoothly. "Tell me, what sort of rank is Colonel? Are you considered a leader among your people?"
> 
> John snorted. "Not hardly. Colonels are the lucky dogs who get assigned scut work, like babysitting scientists."
> 
> Torquin blinked at the various slang words in John's comment, but appeared to get the gist of it. His eyes narrowed and then his shark-like smile appeared again. His expression suggested he wasn't buying it.
> 
> "I see," he said blandly before turning to indicate the table. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me as to the use of some of these items."
> 
> John took a step closer to the table, forcing his gaze to stay fixed on the countertop, not looking out the window just yet. He was too far away to see anything useful and he didn't want to betray his interest. A quick survey of their equipment revealed that both Rodney's scanner and the life signs detector were missing. _Damn_. The LSD would have been useful a useful item to try and snag when they made their escape. Everything that was clearly Ancient in origin had been removed. "What exactly do you want to know?"
> 
> Torquin picked up the first item, Rodney's Beretta. "Interesting weapon."
> 
> John hoped the safety was on. "Useful," he admitted. "But limited by its specialized type of ammunition. Once the ammo runs out, it's nothing but a very bad club."
> 
> Torquin chuckled, laying the gun back on the tabletop. He picked up the first aid kit, opening it to display its contents. John obligingly described the items within and their given purpose. Torquin's glance flicked over at his chest, covered by Rodney's jacket, when John mentioned the antibiotic ointment, but otherwise made no further acknowledgement to the previous beating.
> 
> He picked up the GDO. John launched into an explanation with the same indifferent tone he'd been using all along. "The device is used to allow someone on the other side of the gate to recognize us as being friendly. It's useless now."
> 
> "And why is that?" Torquin almost purred, as though waiting for this moment all along.
> 
> John kept his explanation simple. "Atlantis is destroyed. Our back-up base, the world we escaped to before the Wraith came, was compromised when one of our teams had their GDO stolen. The rest of us had to scatter, the codes were abandoned as a means of recognition." He and Rodney had lain awake that first night for long hours in the dark, coordinating their stories in a whispered exchange, deciding in advance what they'd say if questioned.
> 
> "So, if I were to approach one of your camps with this device, rather than be accepted, I might be fired upon?" Torquin's smile was predatory, challenging, disbelieving.
> 
> John shrugged, deliberately vague. "Your guess is as good as mine." He waited, but Torquin did not ask him for any gate addresses.
> 
> "Then why keep it?" Torquin acted as though the answer really didn't matter, as it was not going to be the truth. As it just so happened, Torquin was right about that.
> 
> John trotted it out anyway. "We're on the run. We've become scavengers. We don't throw anything away if we can help it."
> 
> Torquin continued to slowly quiz him on the use of everything in their packs until each item had been handled and identified.
> 
> "How helpful you are today, Colonel. I wonder what has changed since the last time we met?" Torquin tucked one hand into his pocket; a move John noted warily. He wondered if perhaps Torquin had been secretly recording him with a device hidden there—he was guessing that Torquin had decided openly referring to John as 'the subject' today was would shatter the soldier-commanding officer illusion he was trying to maintain.
> 
> "Maybe I've had time to think," John said steadily. He met Torquin's gaze and gave him the sardonic eyebrow.
> 
> "What were you doing on Tebex?" Torquin's voice became suddenly hard.
> 
> "Same as you, I expect, looking for anything to give us an advantage against the Wraith."
> 
> "Yes, as to that..." Torquin abruptly withdrew his hand from his pocket and lobbed an object at John, who reflexively caught it one-handed as it flew towards his face.
> 
> For a split second, he thought it was a personal shield, and something in his heart leaped upwards in excitement like a trapped bird trying to batter its way out of a room. He realized quickly it was the wrong shape and instead of glowing green, the oval unit took on a neon blue hue in his hand. As he thought about its purpose, music began to fill the room, a soaring, lyrical melody full of bell-like tones. Torquin looked briefly startled, and then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. John thought "off" and stepped over to the table to lay the device down. On looking up, he scanned the window, taking in a walled courtyard below, where soldiers performed a marching drill. He turned away to face Torquin again.
> 
> "None of my people have been able to make that device work." Torquin was still assessing John carefully. "It would appear Dr. McKay is right about your gift."
> 
> John wondered about a man who would willingly hand a prisoner an unknown alien device, with no idea of the possible results. He couldn't decide if Torquin was simply astonishingly arrogant or hoping for a confrontation. He suspected both. He filed that bit of information away as well. "Maybe it helps to be a music-lover."
> 
> Torquin's mouth twisted at John's attempt at humor. "Dr. McKay insists that he will need you shortly as he moves into the testing phase of his research."
> 
> "Yeah, well that's why I get assigned to work with Dr. McKay," John drawled. "He sees me as some sort of personal light switch."
> 
> Torquin chuckled again, sounding impossibly friendly. The absence of menace when he spoke made his words doubly chilling when they finally registered. "We both know you're more than that, Colonel. Much more."
> 
> John's heart froze in his chest for an instant, before it began to thud painfully as he tried to grasp exactly what Torquin was implying. Oh god, he _knew_.
> 
> "I'm afraid I cannot acquiesce to Dr. McKay's demands that you be brought to the lab testing area. You see, I don't trust you, Colonel. I believe you to be a worthy adversary and as such, I will treat you with the caution you deserve. If necessary, I will break you." He spoke matter-of-factly and it took John a second to realize that this character assessment had nothing to do with the stolen moments Rodney and he shared in the dark. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. They might not have gotten caught yet, but his actions with Rodney were reckless and would give Torquin just one more lever to use against them both if he knew. They had to stop. John couldn't give Torquin any more power over them. It was up to him. He would have to be strong enough to give Rodney up.
> 
> He wondered what Torquin made of his expression when he looked up to see the man frowning at him. He silently thanked his father for teaching him all those years ago the self-preservation of the blank look.
> 
> "Take him away," Torquin snapped at the guards and John thought maybe the commander's irritation with him had to do with his failure to get a rise out of John. As he made the long walk back to his cell, John wondered if Torquin _did_ know about him and Rodney and was just keeping that information in reserve, waiting for the right moment to use it against him. He recognized on some level that the 'secret' of his relationship with Rodney also served a purpose in providing useful cover for the larger secret, the plan to escape. A little voice inside him told him to use that, to use everything possible that might increase their chances of getting out of here alive. He felt that if they didn't get out of here soon, he might go nuts.
> 
> Back in the cell, John waited out the hours until Rodney's return, sitting with his back to the wall on the hard pallet, practicing his golf swing in his mind. He saw each movement clearly in his head, willed his muscles to remember the feel of the club in his hands, the kinetic memory of each drive off the tee into the rippling waters surrounding the city. By the time he returned home to Atlantis, he'd be ready to take on Tiger Woods. Atlantis had a hell of a water hazard. He did not think about Rodney. Not at all.
> 
> "Lucy, I'm home," Rodney sang out that evening as he entered the cell, followed by the usual two guards and two heavily garbed women bearing trays laden with steaming bowls of food.
> 
> "Ricky, I think you've got some 'splaining to do," John said dryly, getting creakily to his feet as the guards made sure that the prisoners kept a respectful distance from the black-robed women. The women, clad in burka-like garments that hid their features, laid their trays on the ground and moved toward the exit silently. John's stomach growled as the odor of warm food reached his nostrils. "What's this?"
> 
> Rodney waved 'bye now' to the entourage that had escorted him and rubbed his hands expectantly as he looked down in anticipation at the food. The guards followed the women out of the cell and locked the heavy door behind them as they left. "Successful day in the labs." Rodney was openly gleeful. "I was given a choice. Food, a blanket or antibiotic ointment. Our antibiotic ointment," Rodney said pointedly, glancing briefly in the direction of John's injuries. "After weighing all the choices, I thought food was in both of our best interests." He was wearing his smug 'I'm so right' look and John didn't have the heart to refuse him his moment of glory.
> 
> "I'm sure you did," John drawled, implying _'what else_ ' with his voice, but he let his eyes confirm for Rodney that he really had made the best choice. He knew Rodney had been tempted to take the ointment for his sake, and had thankfully decided against showing that he placed a higher value on John than himself. A blanket would have been nice, but they needed the energy provided by the food more. Besides, they had each other to stay warm. At that thought, John sharply remembered his earlier resolution not to risk Rodney's life further by indulging in any more of this comfort-in-the-night thing they had going, and he realized he still had to convince Rodney of that.
> 
> "Gee, Rodney," John said as he sat down on the floor along with Rodney, checking out the dishes on the tray, "looks like you won the reward challenge."
> 
> "Yes, well just remember I'm trying to see to it that we don't get called to another tribal council," Rodney said tartly, never missing a beat, lifting a bowl of cooked grains to his nose to sniff it carefully and then using his fingers to dip into it. He scooped up some with two fingers, spooning it into his mouth and moaning happily. "Oh man, you should try this."
> 
> "I hope you know this means when we get back home, I want my very own Survivor: Pegasus tee-shirt."
> 
> Rodney snorted. "I think we _all_ deserve one of those. Here," he said happily, offering a helping of the grains on his fingers to John. Ignoring his previous intentions of not interacting with Rodney in this way any more, John leaned in and steadied Rodney's hand with his own, sucking the golden pearls of grain off Rodney's fingers. The nutty taste burst in his mouth with a hint of some rich, garlicky spice and he licked every last clinging grain from Rodney's fingers. When he met Rodney's eye, his mouth was open slightly, his pupils dilated until there was only the barest rim of blue around them.
> 
> John ducked his head and dropped his gaze to the tray. "Pretty good," he said, lifting the cover off another dish and finding a small piece of meat soaking in its juices within. He tore the tender chunk of meat in half and then shredded his half further, popping the pieces in his mouth and licking the juice from his fingers. There was fresh fruit that John insisted on tasting first, as well as assorted cheeses, still soft and flavorful. Another covered plate revealed fresh baked bread and a dish of some green, salsa-like paste. John experimentally tore off a section of bread and rolled it in the paste. It was astonishingly good. Rodney let out a little happy hum at the sight of the bread. He sounded just the same as when they were having sex. John was determined not to think of that.
> 
> When they finally finished eating and John pushed himself away from the tray, replete with the unaccustomed amount of food, he leaned with his back against the wall and said, "Successful in what way?"
> 
> Rodney's face lit up with that impish delight again. "I found the schematics for a potential planetary weapons system." Rodney was openly excited. He gripped John's arm as he spoke. "One operated from the ground that can be directed at incoming traffic through the gate. I'm pretty sure I have all the components to build it, but I'll have to cannibalize parts from all over the base." He leaned into John's ear, brushing it with his lips as he whispered, "Including the prototype glider. I've checked it out. I think it will fly."
> 
> That wasn't really fair, John thought. Two of his favorite things at the same time: Rodney's breath in his ear and the promise of an experimental aircraft. How could he resist that? He turned his face to look into Rodney's excited eyes and realized it was his turn to speak for the benefit of the microphone.
> 
> "You think you can make it work?" He mimed a flying motion with his hand.
> 
> Rodney nodded, answering both the spoken and unspoken question at the same time. "Yes, yes, with a little luck and some sheer brilliance on my part. You know, the irony is that we would have willingly worked with these people towards the common goal here without the whole forced labor thing—they're exactly the kind of alliance we were seeking when we first set up shop in Atlantis."
> 
> "Expect for the whole forced labor thing," John noted dryly.
> 
> "Yeah, except for that," Rodney agreed, rolling his eyes, making the _'d'uh_ ' face. "This would go faster if Torquin would let you come down to the labs." Rodney shot him a meaningful look. Their escape plan was dependent on John not being locked in the cell at the time Rodney set things in motion.
> 
> John felt his mouth tighten, but merely said, "I don't think he trusts me."
> 
> "Yeah." Rodney's face took on a sour, _'imagine that'_ expression and then he brightened again. "Oh hey," he said with artificial surprise, "look what I found. I must have put it in my pocket by mistake."
> 
> "What's that?" John could feel his frown forming between his eyes.
> 
> Rodney held up a piece of chalk that he'd fished out from within his pocket. In the dimming light, his eyes gleamed expectantly. John had no idea where this was going, but he played along.
> 
> "Stealing from the lab, McKay? Aren't you afraid of getting in trouble?"
> 
> Rodney made a scoffing noise. "A piece of chalk? Please. I'm hardly likely to be able to stage a collapse of this planet's economy, build a nuclear reactor or affect an escape plan with a simple piece of chalk."
> 
> "You'd have to be MacGyver in order to do that," John agreed.
> 
> "Don't get me started on the absolute junk science of that show," Rodney groused. "Not to mention that mullet. Or the fact that the phrase 'to MacGyver' something has entered the lexicon. You don't ever hear anyone say, 'I'm going to McKay this', now do you? Nooooo."
> 
> John snorted. God, he loved it when Rodney got into this mode. He couldn't help it.
> 
> "So anyway, look, we can play tic tac toe. Or even chess." Rodney's expression told John that he had something else altogether in mind. Pity. John was good at tic tac toe.
> 
> Rodney used one hand to wipe a clear spot on the stone floor, snagging the cloth from the dinner tray and scrubbing away the dampness as well. He began to speak as his hands flew across the floor with the chalk. "It won't be easy," he glanced up briefly at John, "and timing will be everything, but I think we can make this work. I'll just draw a chess board here."
> 
> But what Rodney drew was a crude map of the complex.
> 
> "Oh goody," John drawled. "By all means let's play a game where we sit in silence for hours and wait for each other to make the next move."
> 
> Rodney looked up sharply at John for a moment, chalk frozen mid-stroke on the stone floor, when he suddenly caught John's meaning and sat up straighter. He snapped his fingers softly several times in rapid succession, pointing at John and mouthing _'yes, yes, right, good cover, John,'_ before hunching down over his drawing again and saying aloud, "Very funny, Colonel."
> 
> John felt his breath catch in his throat. Since when had he become John to Rodney? The transition had snuck up on him without his notice.
> 
> "I'm just saying, tick tac toe is a faster game, Rodney." He was surprised his voice sounded so normal.
> 
> "Chess is a game of strategy and patience," Rodney said loftily, shooting John a significant glance as he fleshed out his plans on the floor. "Let me just draw in the pieces now."
> 
> He quickly sketched a figure sitting like a bloated spider in a network of equipment that John guessed must be Rodney in the lab itself. His supposition was confirmed when Rodney drew lines to various boxes at further distances from the lab and then outlined them in clouds with the word 'kaboom' chalked in above. Only Rodney could make an escape plan seem like a Batman television episode. Another figure, which seemed to be listing sideways against the wall of its little box, and over whom Rodney carefully drew in a crazy array of spikes for hair, was then shown with a series of chalked dashes heading for a room marked with a giant cross. John thought the emblem represented the morgue at first but then realized Rodney meant for it to depict the infirmary. After scribbling what appeared to be a 'biff' and a 'whamo', the John figure was then shown heading for the location of the glider, even as Rodney depicted his stick figure doing the same, drawing an arrow indicating direction with a rapid flourish.
> 
> "You're making this too complicated," John reached out and snagged the chalk from Rodney's fingers.
> 
> "Hey!" Rodney protested, reaching for it back.
> 
> John drew an 'x' through the infirmary, drawing for Rodney a swastika in the big open space nearby that John knew to be the courtyard and then flashing the fingers of his left hand three times rapidly at Rodney to indicate the number of soldiers he saw.
> 
> 'Fuck me,' Rodney mouthed, throwing up his hands.
> 
> John sniggered and mouthed _'is that an offer?'_ Rodney dropped his jaw and pushed at John's shoulder but then grinned.
> 
> "It's stick figure chess for crying out loud, Rodney," John drawled, trying to suppress his laughter. "You don't have to spend all day getting to the point."
> 
> He chalked in a 'kaboom' near his cell and his stick figure taking a direct path to the glider area.
> 
> "It's my chalk, I can play the game any way I want to." Rodney narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at John's sketch and then snagged the chalk back again, wiping away parts of the plans with the damp cloth and scrawling away like mad again once the stone dried.
> 
> John leaned over him to watch his actions. "What, do you just build up a head of snark all day long with no one to vent it on until you come back here at night?"
> 
> "Oh, that's it, Colonel." Rodney tapped the new drawing with the end of the chalk and then looked up with a devilish gleam in his eye. "Snark is just a by-product of the internal workings of my mind and if I can't safely release it, then I'll spontaneously combust, so yes, yes, I save it up all day just for you." He suddenly reached up and slid a hand around the back of John's neck, pulling him down into an open-mouthed kiss.
> 
> Rodney tasted of the warm meat and spicy garlic and his tongue moved languidly in John's mouth. A jolt of pure sensation ran straight down to John's cock and when the kiss ended, he rested his forehead on Rodney's. This was suddenly new territory for John, more than just making the best of a bad situation. This was...shit, he was so fucked.
> 
> Rodney thankfully did not seem to notice his sudden confusion. John tilted his head so that his mouth was positioned near Rodney's ear; if his lips brushed Rodney's cheek in passing, it was just circumstantial. "Okay, Rodney," he drawled softly, ignoring the little shudder Rodney made as his breath ghosted Rodney's skin. "Here's the plan."
> 
> ****
> 
> Later that evening, John lay awake, staring up at the sliver of moon visible through the bars of the narrow window above them. Rodney was draped partly over him, like a warm comforter, one hand burrowed just inside the waist of John's BDUs, the other folded up near John's ear. Rodney had his face tucked into John's neck and was sprawled against his side, one leg curled between John's own. He radiated heat like a nuclear reactor and every part of John that wasn't in actual contact with Rodney seemed twice as cold in contrast.
> 
> They had decided to try the escape in three days. Rodney figured it would take him at least that long to set all his booby traps, once he was given widespread access to the locations and equipment he needed. John had known from the beginning they'd only get one shot at this, and when he and Rodney had discussed the timing and launch window of their escape, they had gotten into an argument. There was a furious exchange of whispers when John announced the timetable and told Rodney that once he initiated his cascading series of laboratory explosions, if John had not shown up at the glider hanger by the time the last explosion occurred, Rodney was to leave without him.
> 
> "Not happening." Rodney had tightened his lips until they disappeared in a thin line. "I know you, this is you making an advance bid for the suicidal heroics you think you'll need to implement in order to get me to the Gate. Well, we go together or not at all."
> 
> "Listen to me, McKay." John had let his voice go cold, standing squarely behind the personal shield of his Colonel persona with Rodney for the first time since their capture. "There will be no second attempt for us. We'll have caused too much destruction. Anyone who remains behind will be punished as an example to everyone else."
> 
> "Exactly," Rodney had hissed in an attempt to keep his voice below the audio sensor range. "All the more reason we need to get out together. Besides, you're the pilot. You think I can fly that glider? A puddlejumper is one thing, but this is both cruder and more sophisticated at the same time. It's a _prototype_ , John."
> 
> "Rodney." John had taken a deep breath and then leaned into him, his mouth centimeters from Rodney's ear. "If I don't show up on time, it's because I _can't_." He had pulled back then, to cast a significant glance in Rodney's direction. His ability to get free from the cell was the weakest part of the whole plan, contingent on everything going just right.
> 
> The silence had weighed heavily between them for several long moments until Rodney moved forward and said quietly, "The same applies for me then. If I don't make it by the final explosion, then something has happened to me, I couldn't shake my guards, whatever. You'll need to take the glider and head for the Gate, because I'll be depending on you to come back with the whole fucking cavalry. Are we clear?" He had flashed a piercing glance upwards at John's face.
> 
> John had hesitated. If he went without Rodney, Torquin would surely kill him before John could mount a rescue operation. He had then glanced over at Rodney's face, inches from his own, blue eyes snapping with anger as Rodney glared back at him. "You don't make it to the glider, I'll go for help," John had lied.
> 
> Rodney had seemed to accept his word at face value. He then began to review their plan in a controlled whisper. "Okay, the first explosion will go off approximately 15 minutes after the morning klaxon, taking down the internal sensors, communications and the main computers. You should be able to hear it from your cell. That will be your cue. Are you sure Ramos will come at that time?"
> 
> "He's become pretty regular lately," John had admitted.
> 
> Rodney had made a low growling noise that was seriously gratifying to hear and yet amusing, as though a kitten was trying to face down a big dog. "So, the first explosion will be your cue to strike back at Ramos and Co. I could have done this all more efficiently through the computer system alone, but we need the noise and confusion of actual fireworks to help us escape."
> 
> "Besides, I like the big bang." John had smirked.
> 
> "Yes, John, I did it just because you like the 'big bang'." Rodney had rolled his eyes and continued on. "The next explosion will be 7 minutes after the first, and should take out the electronics controlling the city's water supply, causing the sluices to open on the dam, flooding the lower part of the city, so you really had better not be in the cell at that time." Rodney had poked him several times in the shoulder with a finger for emphasis.
> 
> John had a passing regret for not being able to witness that particular diversionary tactic take effect. It had been one of their better ideas, as the 'natural' disaster would cause widespread panic and force the military to deal with the crisis instead of search for missing prisoners. He had nodded for Rodney to continue reviewing the plan.
> 
> "Explosions three and four will take place almost simultaneously, but in different sections of the city," Rodney had said almost dreamily, enamored with the beauty of the plan. "Won't do much damage, but no one will know that at the time—almost purely diversionary and will make them think there are more of us at work in the city than there are."
> 
> His eyes had grown clear again as he narrowed his focus on John's face. "The fifth and final one should scramble the communications to the outpost where they keep their own small aircraft. Pity we couldn't just take one of theirs, but they keep their ships down on the plateau below, not having any room to land them up here on the mountain. Anyway, at that point, both of us should be at the glider hanger. Once we get the door open, we should be able to launch right from there—it looks out over the side of the city walls." Rodney had paused, looking a little anxious. "Of course, that means you'll have a pretty short period of time to figure out the controls before we hit the ground."
> 
> "You worry about your end, I'll worry about mine," John had said with a confidence he didn't really feel. It would be a miracle if both of them made it that far. He'd worry about flying the glider when he actually saw it.
> 
> "We need a backup plan, in case Ramos doesn't show. You'll have no way to signal me to hold on implementing the launch, should you be locked in your cell. Not to mention the whole drowning like a trapped rat thing." Rodney had looked very unhappy at that.
> 
> John had then leaned forward past Rodney's shoulder and silently pointed to the 'kaboom' he'd chalked in near his cell door. Rodney had turned with him to look at the drawing, sliding an arm around John's waist as he did so and John couldn't help but wonder at Rodney's level of comfort with the causal contact. That would change when they got back to Atlantis, he had realized sharply.
> 
> Rodney had stared at the drawing, nodding. "We need some C-4. Not much. Just enough to blow the lock." He had slumped a little against John in defeat, his posture suggesting he might as well wish for a squad of marines with P-90's and a puddlejumper.
> 
> John had reached up behind his ear and pulled out a narrow length of gray, clay-like material, rolling it into a ball with a cheerful grin as he showed it to Rodney. "You mean like this?"
> 
> Rodney's eyes had grown round with surprise. He had twisted to grip both of John's arms with his own, giving him a little shake before pulling him close and whispering, "Ohmygod. Detonator too?"
> 
> John had nodded, knowing he was grinning like a fiend, tucking the C-4 away for safe keeping. "Torquin never should have let me handle our own equipment today."
> 
> "Ohmygod," Rodney had repeated, "I love you so much." He had given John a great, smacking kiss and then pulled back to stare at him worriedly. "But what if you'd been caught? Surely he was expecting something like this from you."
> 
> John had leaned back, still non-plussed from Rodney's previous statement. He had reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a packet of antibiotic ointment. "Which was why I let him see me take this," he had said, trying to control the slight tremor in his voice.
> 
> "Thank god, I chose food instead of this. You know, for a flyboy, sometimes you're a fucking genius." Rodney had snagged the packet, tearing open the foil with his teeth as he pushed John backwards and unzipped the jacket. He had begun to squeeze the ointment out onto his fingers with studied concentration.
> 
> John had started to laugh. Rodney's expression had become alarmed and he dropped the packet, clapping a hand over John's mouth, even as he sprawled across him so as to get close enough to whisper. "What? What's so funny?" His face was still concerned but John had seen in a flash that Rodney wanted in on the joke as well.
> 
> "You," he had sniggered, "with the smart-ass line and the tearing the packet open with your teeth, and then lubing up your fingers..."
> 
> "Ohmygod, you are twelve." Rodney had huffed as he sat up and smoothed the antibiotic ointment on the worst of John's lash marks. When he was done, John had sat up as well and reached for him, pulling Rodney into a kiss and feeling Rodney's lips curve into a smile against his own. "Careful. I just put this crap on you, it has to stay there at least a little while to do any good at all before you rub it off."
> 
> John had then looked at the drawings on the floor, representing their lives at stake, their freedom. He had suddenly wiped the plans away with the side of his fist and said aloud, "This is boring. Let's play tic tac toe."
> 
> "Best 12 out of 15," Rodney had agreed, drawing the grid for the game.
> 
> John slowly moved his hand now from where it rested on Rodney's back until his fingers brushed the short hair just starting to curl at the nape of Rodney's neck. Rodney made a little snuffling noise and wriggled closer into John's side, pulling a smile up from deep within John. It slowly faded as he thought of the days to come. They had to try this; he knew that. Sooner or later, their usefulness would come to an end and Torquin would dispose of them. Rodney had not been able to find any evidence of any other prisoners within the complex, although there were notes left behind on projects started by other people. The tin-pot ruler of this little society would be coming in another week along with the new moon; John was sure that it was only a matter of time before Torquin started grilling him for Gate addresses again. This was their best chance, their _only_ chance.
> 
> But something inside John was loath to make the move. They had so much to lose here. Failure would undoubtedly result in their deaths, probably in prolonged agony. Rodney would actually probably get the worst of it, as Torquin slowly extracted all the information he could get from Rodney before he died. The small, selfish part of him that was afraid of what could happen to them suggested that things were not so bad right now, they had some sort of life here, perhaps it would be better not to rock the boat. He knew that was just fear talking, and that he could firmly ignore it. He would be fine once the waiting was over and he could finally take action.
> 
> It was harder to reason with the other part of himself, the part that argued that this thing he had with Rodney had to come to an end, for both their sakes. All his good intentions regarding distancing himself from Rodney had vanished when Rodney had placed his lips on John's skin. Two more nights. It was only two more nights.
> 
> John released his breath in a heavy sigh, the cool temperature of the air around them making the vapor of his breath clearly visible in the thin, cold light of the moon above. His fingers moved gently in Rodney's hair. Moments like this would not exist for them back on Atlantis. Could not exist. They would go back to being soldier and scientist. To being friends. Friends that had survived something terrible, that bound them together closely, but friends just the same. The Colonel and Dr. McKay.
> 
> John never in a million years thought he'd be reluctant to go home.
> 
> ****
> 
> The day before the planned escape, Ramos showed up at John's cell shortly after the morning shift change, with three men in tow, two of whom John had never seen before. _This doesn't look good_. He reminded himself that they only had one more day to get through before he and Rodney made their move. He remained where he was, sitting on the pallet with his back to the wall. The only concession he'd made to their arrival was to draw his feet up closer to his body, the better to get up quickly if necessary. _Don't blow it now, Sheppard_. He was thankful that earlier he had pushed the detonator into a crack in the wall, covering it with the C-4 and smoothing it flat, so that the gray material was virtually indistinguishable from the stone in the dim lighting.
> 
> "Well, well, well," said Ramos on entering the cell. "If it isn't Pretty Boy, sitting here all alone. What do you think, boys? I think he could use some company."
> 
> John carefully gauged the expressions of the men around him and held his tongue. Sometimes even a wise-ass knew when to shut up.
> 
> "He don't seem to be in a talkative mood, Ramos," one of the new guys sneered. The two initiates to Ramos' Sheppard bashing party took up supporting positions beside him. The third guard stood an uneasy watch by the door. There was a tension in the room that felt totally different from all of the previous visits by Ramos, but John could not tell if it was just paranoia on his part. They were so close to making a break from here.
> 
> "Not like his pal, _Rodney_ ," Ramos agreed, and the way he spoke Rodney's name created a very visceral reaction in John's gut. "Now there's a man with a mouth on him. But then, I bet you know all about that, don't you, Pretty Boy?"
> 
> John watched him without moving, willing himself to show no reaction.
> 
> "Of course, we could always just go get _Rodney_. I'm sure he'd be much more friendly-like." Ramos exchanged a smirk with his buddies.
> 
> "What do you want, Ramos?" John said in a bored tone.
> 
> "Well, now that's more like it," Ramos grinned, showing a gold tooth in the front. His sidekicks chuckled nastily. "We want what McKay's been getting. Or we'll go to him to get what we want. You think we don't know? That we can't hear you two rutting like animals in the dark?"
> 
> The guard on his left cupped his groin and thrust his hips suggestively at John, giving exaggerated little grunts as he did so. _Shit_.
> 
> "You heard...you mean to tell me there's a _microphone_ in here?" John said loudly, letting his voice rise sharply in pitch. The guard by the door looked up in alarm and then forcibly jerked his attention back to the corridor.
> 
> "Shut up!" Ramos snarled. The men moved forward in a rush and John scrabbled to his feet, but a blow from Ramos knocked him to his knees again. Ramos fisted his hair and pulled his head back sharply. John could feel the tendons in his neck stretch with the movement, even as one of the other men punched him in the gut. Ramos released him, letting him fold over his arm, holding his stomach. He was momentarily stunned when someone grabbed the back of his neck and bashed his head against the wall. Hands grabbed at him, pulling at the jacket, at his BDU's. His pants were jerked down roughly over his hips as the jacket was pulled off and tossed aside. _This is gonna really suck_ , he thought.
> 
> "Ancestors preserve us," one of the guards sucked in a breath at the sight of John's old wounds.
> 
> "Get him up—spread him against the wall. Don't waste your sympathy on this cock-sucker," Ramos laughed. "He had it coming. He deserved it. He deserves this." Ramos had unbuttoned his pants and taken his dick out as he spoke, taking it in hand and waving it for emphasis.
> 
> _No, I don't_. The words echoed with sudden clarity in John's head, like a church bell tolling on a Sunday morning in the spring. _No. I don't. No._
> 
> He erupted from the floor, striking and punching for all he was worth, hampered slightly by the pants around his hips until he hitched them up. He fought with a fury that wasn't just aimed at protecting himself. He fought for Rodney, for Teyla and Ronon, for every other person victimized by this system. But in the end, it was four against one, and he lay on the floor of the cell as fists pounded into his flesh. Then there was shouting, and the beating suddenly stopped. His last coherent thought was for Rodney. _I'm so sorry, buddy._
> 
> ****
> 
> When he awoke, he was curled in a ball on the pallet, shivering under a soft woven blanket. It was the sound of Rodney bustling into the cell that woke him, Rodney already in already in mid-sentence as he came through the door. "They sent me back early today, and I was given a packet of Tylenol as well, what the hell do you think is going..." Rodney's voice broke off with a gasp and John turned his face to squint up at him through the one eye that was not swollen shut.
> 
> "Ohmygod, ohmygod, _John_." Rodney's voice sounded anguished as he hurried over to kneel beside John on the floor. Rodney's warm hand was in his hair, turning his head gently and hesitating when his fingers contacted a section matted with blood. "What the fuck happened to you?" he said brokenly.
> 
> "Rodney," John croaked through cracked lips, despite the fact he knew that it would only start them bleeding again. He raised his voice slightly. "Did you know this place is wired for sound?"
> 
> Rodney cradled his face in both of his hands, looking down with John with an expression of such pain that John thought for an instant that he might cry, until his face hardened into an expression of flinty steel. A fraction of a second later, the fear that their plans had been discovered was clearly etched on his features. John placed a hand on Rodney's arm, closing his eyes and turning his face into Rodney's hand.
> 
> "A microphone." Rodney gritted, in his 'playing for the audience voice', as though it were the first time he'd heard that information. His voice softened in tone but only lowered slightly in volume as he spoke again. "They heard us then. I'm not exactly the most silent person during...well, you know. Oh god, I am so sorry, John. I never meant for this to happen."
> 
> John gripped his shirt by the collar and pulled him down to John's mouth so he could whisper in Rodney's ear. "They heard _us_ , but not the plan. Is everything in place? Did you have enough time today?"
> 
> Rodney pulled back to goggle at him. "You can't be serious! You still want to go through with this _tomorrow_?" he hissed quietly.
> 
> "We're both running out of time." John said softly, closing his good eye. He smiled, despite the fact that it hurt like a sonofabitch. "Operation: Wing and a Prayer is a go."
> 
> ****
> 
> The temptation to lie under the blanket and give into the dull throbbing pain after Rodney was escorted to the labs in the morning was strong, very strong. The slight relief that the single dose of Tylenol had given was long since gone. Despite Rodney's attentions the previous evening, every muscle in John's body protested against his continued existence after lying all night on the thin mattress covering the stone floor. John gritted his teeth and carefully rolled over so he could push himself up, muscles spasming and causing him to catch his breath as he did so. Pausing for a breather when needed, he slowly got to his feet. He needed to loosen up his muscles, to be ready to act when the time was right.
> 
> Rodney had been loath to leave and John had been forced to practically order him out. All perfectly in character, so no harm done, right? John found himself worrying about the possibility that Ramos and Co would go after Rodney next, that they would prevent him from launching the plan. Neither he nor Rodney had any idea what had happened that caused the men to stop their assault of him the day before, or why John had ended up with a blanket and Rodney with the Tylenol. None of that really mattered now, he decided. Today was the day they went home.
> 
> So when the booted footsteps sounded in the corridor some ten or fifteen minutes before the expected morning klaxon, John cursed the Pegasus galaxy and its quirky sense of humor. _No, no, no_. He realized his internal monolog was starting to sound like Rodney, but there was no time to appreciate the humor of that before the guards were in his cell. The young kid and another new guard.
> 
> "You will please come with us," the young kid motioned towards the open hallway with his drawn weapon. _Shit. Fuck. Goddamn it._ John left the cell with his armed escort. The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter when he realized that he was being taken straight to the torture room. He actually stumbled a moment near the door, and the young kid put out a steadying grip on his arm, releasing him as soon as he regained his balance. There was a pause just outside the door, when the kid hesitated before lifting his fist to knock sharply, three times. A blank-faced guard opened the door and let them in.
> 
> Inside, a man hung suspended from the hook in the ceiling. For a split second, John's mind suggested it was Rodney, but then rationality took over and he realized that the person hanging there was the wrong shape, the tattered clothing all wrong as well. With a jolt of shock, he realized it was Ramos. The guard hung motionless from the hook, chin to his chest, blood dripping from numerous lash marks and smearing on the floor around his feet as evidence of his struggles.
> 
> John glanced over at Torquin to see the man watching him, a cold fury radiating off his face. He smacked the recording device on his chest sharply and then coiled the whip back up in his hand, using it to point at Ramos. "Do you know what annoys me the most about this, Colonel Sheppard?"
> 
> John thought carefully before answering. "His blind stupidity?"
> 
> "Yes!" Torquin snapped. "Yes! By all means, have your fun with the prisoners," he used the whip in his hand to lift Ramos' chin. "Did you think I didn't know about that?" He let the man's head fall back in place. "But do not seriously damage the prisoners _before I am through with them_. And do not," and here Torquin's voice suddenly thundered in the small room, "tell them their conversations are being monitored!"
> 
> The young kid winced. The other guard that had come in with John had positioned himself near the guard that had let them in. Neither moved, not even to exchange a glance, for fear of calling attention to themselves.
> 
> John had little sympathy for the former-guard-turned-prisoner. Ramos was a sick bastard and would have led his pals in a gang-rape of John had they not been interrupted yesterday. He himself had thought often of the ways in which he'd kill Ramos if given the opportunity. But he would not wish this on anyone. He said nothing, reluctant to egg Torquin on any further. In the heavy silence, the morning klaxon sounded.
> 
> "Here," Torquin said suddenly, holding the whip out to John.
> 
> John involuntarily leaned away from the movement of the whip towards him. "Excuse me?"
> 
> "Here." Torquin's voice got silky with menace. "Take the whip. Punish him. It is your right."
> 
> "I think you've got that pretty well covered, thanks just the same."
> 
> Torquin turned his head to face John, his arm still outstretched. "Take it. Take the whip and use it on him."
> 
> "No." John took a deep breath and lifted his chin.
> 
> "You will do as I say," Torquin spoke in that ultra-calm tone of his but the underlying threat was present as well, like a sheathed knife. The outstretched arm began to tremble with the strain or something else altogether. John suspected the man was coming totally unglued.
> 
> "No," John replied, keeping his voice calm as well. "That would make me you."
> 
> Someone in the room sucked their breath in sharply. In the distance, an explosion sounded. Way ahead of schedule. Torquin motioned to the two guards near the door. "Go check that out and report back to me." He returned his focus to John. "You will take this whip and use it or the next man to hang from this hook will be your precious Dr. McKay."
> 
> _You just need to stall for a little more time_. John wondered why the first explosion had gone off early and if the others would follow the planned sequence. What he didn't need was for guards to go and drag Rodney out of position right now; to confine him for 'interrogation' just as they were making their prison break. He took the whip with a great show of reluctance, avoiding Torquin's eyes as he did so.
> 
> "There you go," Torquin purred suddenly. "Now see, that wasn't so hard." He placed a guiding hand on the small of John's back to position him in front of Ramos, his cold fingers brushing bare skin where his hand slipped under Rodney's jacket.
> 
> John stiffened and began to breathe harder. _Jesus_. This guy was a real psycho-puppy. John twisted the coils of the whip in his hands, finally letting the length of the leather fall to the floor as he retained his grip on the handle with his right hand.
> 
> "Have you ever used a whip before?" Torquin's voice was suddenly in his ear, moist breath hot against his neck and it was creeping John out.
> 
> "I think I understand the general mechanics of it," John spoke at last, his voice sounding rusty, even to himself. He glanced back over his shoulder, disturbed by Torquin's proximity. He repressed a shudder when Torquin's hand slid down his sleeve, closing over the whip handle in his hand, flexing John's hand to loosen the wrist, much like a golf pro giving lessons to a student. "It's all in the wrist," Torquin murmured.
> 
> "Better give me a little room, then," John said dryly, and Torquin laughed like an infatuated lover. He stepped back slightly.
> 
> John looked down at the whip in his hand and then up at Ramos, the man lifting his head slightly to look him in the eye before letting his head fall back down again with a small moan.
> 
> "Do it," Torquin warned, no longer sounding lover-like.
> 
> John took in a sharp breath and grimaced, raising his arm with a snap that made the tip of the whip crack in the air before drawing his arm down in a slashing strike across Ramos' chest. The whip bit deeply, causing Ramos to cry out and arch backwards.
> 
> "Yes!" Torquin cried, sounding orgasmic. John spun around on the upswing and backhanded Torquin across the face with the whip, striking again and again furiously as the commander screamed and tried to protect his face. John dove on him and drove him to the ground, pulling out Torquin's holstered weapon. Torquin scrabbled with one hand to prevent John from taking the gun and then pulled a knife out of his tall boot, shoving it in John's side as he himself was pulling the trigger. Torquin's body jerked once from beneath John's straddling position, blood and tissue spattering up along John's face and shoulder. He rolled off Torquin, pulling the blade out from his side and letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. He drew a bead on the young kid, clutching his side with his other hand, blood seeping through his fingers.
> 
> To his surprise, the kid was not making any attempt to subdue him, but instead was cutting Ramos down from the hook. John got to his feet and stood with his weapon aimed at the two men, as the young soldier was lowering Ramos' inert form to the floor.
> 
> John leaned down with a grimace and deactivated the recording device on Torquin's body, never taking his eyes off the guard all the while.
> 
> "Let me guess," John drawled as he stood up again. He coughed suddenly, wincing in pain. "Blankets? Tylenol?"
> 
> The kid briefly ducked his head and looked embarrassed. "It was all I could do. You should go. The others will be back soon."
> 
> "So let me get this straight—this setting is stun, and this setting is kill, correct?" The hole in Torquin's chest would have made Ronon's heart sing with pride.
> 
> The kid's face froze. He nodded solemnly, gripping Ramos by the shoulders, obviously expecting death at John's hands. John stunned them both and left the room.
> 
> ****
> 
> Rodney whipped around at the sound of his approach and then let out a huge, gusty sigh of relief when he recognized John. "Oh, thank god. Everything's going pear-shaped on us. The sequence of explosions is all shot to hell, one of the guards got suspicious and I had to launch early. I barely got away myself. I wasn't sure you'd make it in time. Ohmygod, what's wrong with you?" Rodney stopped in the middle of opening the heavy hanger door when John paused to lean up against it instead of helping to push.
> 
> "Nothing. I'll be fine." There was nothing Rodney could do about it anyway.
> 
> "Fine hell, I recognize that gritted-teeth expression of yours, Colonel 'Come back here you coward'." John gave a half-laugh at the Monty Python reference and grimaced when Rodney pulled his bloodied hand away from his side.
> 
> Blue eyes wide with shock greeted him when he looked up into Rodney's face. "Oh. That's...that's just...right." Rodney gulped, swallowing hard. "Okay...that's not so bad. Wait here."
> 
> John closed his eyes and let the hanger door hold him up. A few seconds, minutes, hours later he felt Rodney push aside the jacket and press something to his side that made him hiss in pain. "Hold this," Rodney said, pressing his slick fingers over a folded cloth to his side. There was the sound of tape being pulled off a roll and John opened his eyes to Rodney's evil grin. "You think this hurts now," Rodney smirked, reaching around John to wrap the tape around him several times, securing the cloth firmly to his body. "Wait 'til Carson tries to pull this off your hairy self." John touched the industrial strength tape with his fingers, deciding he'd kill Rodney later. He felt Rodney grip his arm and he looked up into Rodney's intensely worried expression. He forced a grin in response.
> 
> Somehow they got the hanger door open and into the glider. John's brain went on autopilot, checking the functions of the two-man ship automatically. An HUD obligingly popped up, giving him the read-outs he needed.
> 
> "No DHD," Rodney said from behind him, reading his mind. "We'll have to land and then dial the Gate before we go through. And we can't go to Atlantis without the GDO, so I vote for the alpha-site."
> 
> "Right," John agreed. It was a good thing they were sitting down for this part. He hit the launch sequence and the millennia-old craft propelled itself forward as though it had been waiting all this time for his command, slamming them backwards in their seats with the acceleration.
> 
> "I see they hadn't perfected the inertial dampeners on this model," Rodney's voice was disapproving from the rear.
> 
> John ignored him, concentrating on not plummeting to the ground. It was close, very close. The glider dropped like a rock when its forward momentum died and they plunged for the ground, just missing the tops of the plants nodding their grain-heavy heads in the fields when the secondary systems kicked in and John was able to pull the ship up.
> 
> "Oh thank god," Rodney moaned from the back. "Oh my, I think I'm going to be sick."
> 
> "Find me the Gate, McKay," John turned the glider in a sweeping move towards the open road that Rodney had seen from the city above. He felt a thin sheen of sweat break out over his body. He just had to hold it together for a little longer. _Almost there_.
> 
> "Got it," Rodney said suddenly. "Coordinates coming to you. Looks like we're about 50 km away. ETA two minutes."
> 
> John had to increase altitude as they approached the forest at high speed in order to clear the tree line. A warning light began blinking on the control panel in front of him. _Two minutes_ , he cursed, glancing at the read-out. _You couldn't give me two fucking minutes_? Sweat began to roll down the side of his face and his grip on the controls turned his knuckles white.
> 
> "We're not going to make it," he said aloud, knowing Rodney had the same read-out in front of him. "We'll pick a nice spot and land. No big deal." He had to get out from over this forest; he had to find some open ground. He had to get Rodney closer to the Gate. Because there was no way he could make it on foot. Rodney was going to have to go home without him.
> 
> ****
> 
> _Notgoodnotgoodnotgood_ , the words ran through Rodney's mind in a seemingly unending loop. He supposed it was inevitable that this would happen, as it so often did, that they would get so far in their escape plan and then have catastrophe strike.  
> Truth be told, Rodney was somewhat surprised that they had managed to get this far – when one of his more observant 'keepers' had gotten suspicious and demanded to know why he was accessing the base's auxiliary energy supplies as opposed to the independent power generator Torquin had set up for him to use, Rodney had thought that the jig was up. He had briefly considered trying to bluff his way out of it, but had not wanted to risk being removed from the lab before he'd had time to initiate the first set of explosions; he'd been left with no alternative but to implement the escape plan ahead of schedule and trust that John had his C4 at the ready and would be able to make it to the launch bay in time. He had been so relieved when John had appeared. Despite his assurances to the contrary, Rodney was not certain he would have been able to bring himself to leave alone had John not appeared in time. No, somewhere along the line, abandoning John had simply become unthinkable. They were a team, a partnership – daring heroics and last minute miracles together, that was their thing. That said, as their glider continued its plummet to earth, Rodney was beginning to wonder whether perhaps they had at last run out of luck.
> 
> Rodney watched the data provided by the glider's HUD as if mesmerized, his brain performing speed and impact calculations over and over again entirely beyond the control his conscious volition. He heard John start to curse from the pilot seat in front of him and looked up, tilting his head to the side to watch as John fought to maintain the glider's altitude, John's hands gripping the controls tightly. The prototype glider shuddered and jolted in flight, the stomach-churning motion combining with the terror already rolling though Rodney and making him grip the sides of his seat, his body tense with fear even though he knew he needed to relax to minimize the trauma of a crash landing.
> 
> Two minutes and 50 kilometers from the gate – it was too long, too far, they weren't going to make it. Judging from the readouts, they'd be lucky if they made it two-thirds of that distance. Rodney thought he heard John shout out something about landing and, glancing out the window, he could see that John had managed to locate a clearing in amongst the miles of forest spread out below them. Unable to look away, Rodney watched the ground rush up to meet them at a dizzying pace. He leaned forward automatically at the last minute and assumed the brace position, his arms coming up to protect his head as he readied himself for one of John Sheppard's special landings.
> 
> The impact of their landing jarred through him with a tremendous blow, the force of it knocking him first backwards into his seat and then throwing him forwards into the back of John's chair as the glider skidded and bounced along the uneven ground. He felt the breath leave his body and stars exploded before his eyes, his vision blacking out. He fought hard to maintain consciousness – he couldn't afford to pass out, John was injured, John would need him and they both needed to get to the gate. He finally felt the glider judder to a halt and found himself lying in a painful heap on the floor, gasping uselessly for breath as his lungs strained to draw in air.
> 
> Finally the pressure in his chest eased sufficiently and Rodney inhaled deeply, drawing in a great lungful of air in relief. The rush of oxygen to his brain made him feel light-headed for a moment, and the world spun nauseatingly as Rodney lay on his back wedged between the glider's bucket seats and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. It felt like he was lying at an angle and he heard an ominous groan of metal from the glider itself. Suddenly the entire ship tilted, smashing down to the ground hard and forcing a cry from Rodney's mouth as he was thrown heavily to one side. He opened his eyes cautiously and raised his head, his body tensing in preparation for further movements of the crashed vessel, but fortunately none seemed forthcoming.
> 
> "John?" he called out, but there was no response from the front of the craft; a cold knot of fear coiled low in his belly. With a grunt, Rodney tried to lever himself up off the floor, the pounding in his head growing more painful as he moved. There were shards of glass from the windows and windshield scattered over him and bits of twisted metal from the glider's body were sticking out all along the right-hand side of the ship, the material dented and buckled by the force of the crash. Worryingly, it looked like part of the cockpit had taken a hit and a section of it was dented down directly over where John would have been sitting.
> 
> "John?" Rodney called again, his eyes running frantically over the back of John's chair hoping to make out some indication of where John was and how badly he was injured. Again there was no reply and Rodney felt his worry magnify exponentially. He rolled over onto his side, hoping to be able to lever himself up from there, but as soon as he tried to brace his weight on his right arm a hot, sharp stab of pain caught him unawares. His arm crumpled uselessly beneath him as he fell forward onto his belly amongst the sharp shards of crash debris, the agony making tears well in his eyes. Whimpering, Rodney rolled over onto his back again, taking the pressure off his injured arm and cradling to his chest with his left. Cautiously he felt along the length of his forearm, wincing as he felt the bones move in one place, something they certainly should not do. Damn it, he thought, definitely broken then.
> 
> Rodney lay still for several moments, willing the worst of the pain to abate. He then slowly shifted various part of his body, starting with his feet and working his way up, checking carefully for any further injuries. Apart from his arm, the pounding of his head, and the familiar ache in his lower back, nothing more appeared to be amiss. Breathing a sigh of relief that his situation was not worse, he sat up slowly, grimacing, and tried to get to his feet. They were still a long way from being out of danger. Despite the various explosions he'd set and the bugs he'd planted in the base's computer network, Torquin and his soldiers were bound to find out about their escape sooner or later – and Rodney planned to be at least a wormhole away when that happened. But, more importantly than that, Rodney needed to check on John.
> 
> Unsteady on his feet, but standing, Rodney managed to activate the controls on the glider's side which opened the cockpit hatch. He let out a murmur of gratitude when the top section of the glider lifted up and then slid slowly open. The mechanism had obviously been damaged and the action was accompanied by the ear-shattering shriek of metal tearing against metal. Nevertheless, it worked and fresh air wafted into the glider's interior as the clear blue, cloudless sky emerged. Rodney left his eyes drift closed for a moment, the cool breeze on his brow coming as a welcome distraction from the agony of his body. He used it to gather his strength and then opened his eyes and looked into the front of the glider.
> 
> Rodney's heart stopped beating at the sight that greeted him. John lay slumped sideways in the pilot's seat, his head crushed up against the glider's left side and blood pooling around his unconscious body. A steady stream of red trickled from a vicious gash in his right temple and the entire right side of the Rodney's jacket, which John still wore, was dark with it. To make matters worse, his legs appeared to be trapped beneath the flight control console, which had been battered forward by their landing and currently pinned John's lower body to his chair. John's face was deathly pale and Rodney couldn't make out if he was still breathing.
> 
> In what felt like the longest moments of his life, Rodney lent forward and carefully placed the first two fingers of his left hand on the pulse point of John's neck. He tried to ignore the screams of his mind and instead concentrated on searching for John's heartbeat, as if he could will it into being by the pure strength of his desire, no, need for it to be there. For there to be no pulse, for John to truly be- his mind shied away from completing the sentiment, he couldn't even _think_ it. A series of images flashed through his mind; John's courage in the face of Torquin's sadistic torture, the light in John's eyes when Rodney told him about the prototype glider, the determination in his expression as they sketched out their desperate escape plan, the tenderness he'd shown as they lay curled together on the thin pallet of their cell.
> 
> There it was, faint and uneven, but there was definitely still blood pumping through John's arteries. Rodney couldn't help giving into his temptation to touch John, leaning forward still further, ignoring the spasming of his back, and letting his forehead rest lightly on John's chest for a second.
> 
> Drawing back he moved his hand from John's neck to touch John's cheek, grimacing as he examined the deep cut in John's temple. As his fingertips made contact with John's bristled jaw, John's eyelids flickered and his head twitched.
> 
> "Careful," Rodney said at once, stilling John's movements by cupping his face.
> 
> John's eyes flickered open and Rodney was relieved to see his pupils react to the light and then focus sharply on Rodney's face. "Hey," John said as Rodney let his hand fall away. "What happened?" he asked groggily.
> 
> Rodney rolled his eyes. "Some pilot you are," he replied. "We crashed. You know, our plane fell out of the sky? Lost forward momentum and plummeted to the ground? Our upward force weakened and we fell foul of the laws of gravity? Does any of this sound familiar to you?"
> 
> John grinned weakly. "Ah, we _crashed_ ," he said. "Thought I recognized the sensation."
> 
> "That, Colonel," Rodney said sharply. "Does not inspire confidence."
> 
> "Hey," John protested as he looked around, taking in Rodney's condition, their surroundings, the open jumper roof hatch and his own fairly dire state. "We got out of Compound of Doom, didn't we?"
> 
> "Hmm," Rodney huffed.
> 
> "Exactly, so it ain't all bad."
> 
> Rodney raised his eyebrows skeptically at that. "You've obviously suffered serious brain damage if you think that," he snapped.
> 
> "Yeah, well, crash victim here, remember?"
> 
> "Oh yes, because that had slipped my mind," Rodney replied sarcastically. "Man with a concussion, broken arm and wrenched back here, you know."
> 
> "Only us, huh?" John said weakly, his lips curling up into a small smile.
> 
> "Yeah," Rodney replied. "Us."
> 
> John's eyes widened for a moment, but then he let out a little huff of laughter. "Okay, then," he said. "Let's finish this thing, then, with our usual style and grace."
> 
> "By the skin of our teeth, you mean?" Rodney asked dryly.
> 
> "Wing and a prayer, buddy," John replied. "Wing and a prayer."
> 
> Rodney felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Well," he said, gesturing around them. "It would appear that our wing has been rather thoroughly broken and praying has never really been my thing, so..." he trailed off.
> 
> "So," John continued. "You head to the gate and find us some new wings and I'll do my best to holding up the prayer end here." He hefted up one of the energy weapons that Torquin and his men had carried. "See," he said to Rodney with a grin. "I'm even doing slightly better than the angels on the weapons front."
> 
> "I'm not leaving you," Rodney said at once, ignoring John's ramblings and only just remembering not to cross his arms with his denial.
> 
> "You don't have a choice, buddy," John replied calmly, gesturing towards his trapped legs with the barrel of his weapon. "I'm stuck here and, even if I weren't, I'm pretty sure I'm not up for walking." His eyes then flickered over Rodney's broken arm. "And you're sure as hell not up for carrying me."
> 
> He was right, Rodney realized in despair. There was really only one way out of this – for him to make it to the gate and back to Atlantis so that a rescue team could be sent to retrieve John.
> 
> Okay – he could do this, Rodney told himself. What was it Teyla had said? That Pegasus and Atlantis were his home too now, one for which he fought every single day. Not just Pegasus and Atlantis, Rodney realized with a start. As he looked down at John, he had to acknowledge that his home was _here_ too. That John was the reason he fought so hard, succeeded so brilliantly and fell so hard. Not the only reason, to be sure, but perhaps one of the largest.
> 
> "Okay," he said, feeling a sense of determination flood through him. "I'll go. But don't you go and do anything stupid like die or anything before I get back."
> 
> John snorted. "I'll do my best, buddy," he promised. "Now let's get your arm wrapped up and get you on your way."
> 
> ****
> 
> Rodney trudged through the forest reciting pi as far as he could recall, timing each mumbled number with every footfall in his long journey towards the gate. He didn't have the mental energy to work out the digits beyond the fiftieth decimal place, so once he reached there he went back to the beginning and started over again, repeating his mantra through the seemingly endless miles of pine forest. His head pounded and his arm ached, but he kept going, falling into a sort of semi-trance where nothing existed but the rhythmic sound of his feet and the numbers he huffed under his breath.
> 
> Given the last readings he and John could recall from the HUD before the glider had crashed, they had estimated that gate lay roughly 20 kilometers east of the crash site. If he kept up a reasonable pace, Rodney reckoned that he could make it there about five hours. Fortunately the terrain was mostly flat, so it was fairly easy going, even given the extent of his injuries and his falling blood sugar levels.
> 
> Before he had left, John had helped him wrap up his arm using part of his jacket, arguing that Rodney needed the support more than he needed the warmth. Rodney hated what he had been forced to do – to leave John alone like that, trapped and bleeding in the crashed glider in the middle of the large clearing. He was fairly certain that the disruptions he had caused in the base's computer system would prevent anyone from being able to track them effectively, and had designed the multiple explosions he'd initiated to cause as much damage and confusion as possible in the base. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel he'd abandoned John in a very precarious position. Keep going, he told himself firmly, stop thinking and keep moving. It was up to him now – John was relying on him to get to the alpha site and then to return from Atlantis to rescue him, so that was exactly what he was going to do.
> 
> As he traveled, the forest of tall conifer trees was almost eerily quiet, seemingly devoid of any kind of life, and the thin, almost sandy, soil liberally covered in pine needles was soft under his feet. After several hours, however, the nature of the forest changed as pine trees gave way to thicker deciduous forest. The broad-leafed trees seemed to harbor a far greater range of wildlife and Rodney's journey was soon accompanied by the calls of birds and the soft rustle of leaves swaying in the wind.
> 
> The gate, when it finally came into view, was a complete shock to Rodney. As the hours had passed, his mind hand entered a state of thoughtless delirium in which very little of the actual detail of his surroundings had penetrated. All his energy had been completely focused on keeping his legs moving, knowing that neither he nor John had the time for him to waste his energy on anything other than making it to the gate.
> 
> He'd just reached the top of gentle slope and, pausing at the crest to survey the land below, was almost brought to his knees with relief when he was greeted by the sight of the stargate standing in the clearing in below him. He covered the last half-kilometer to the gate at a run, heedless of the pain in his arm as it was jarred by his movements. Arriving at the DHD, he quickly pulled open the hatch containing the control crystals. He blinked hazily at the array, trying to get his tired and glucose-starved brain to focus long enough for him to determine the correct chevron address so that the rescue party from Atlantis could return to the planet to retrieve John. He studied the arrangement of the crystals carefully, checking and re-checking his conclusions, knowing he must be absolutely certain of the requisite chevrons and dialing sequence before he left. He committed the address to memory, burning the seven chevron pattern deep into his mind, the sequence flaring brightly behind his closed eyelids whenever he blinked. That done, he punched in the co-ordinates of the alpha site and then bounced impatiently in place as he watched the last chevron slowly lock into place and the swoosh of the wormhole as it surged into action.
> 
> Once the event horizon had stabilized, Rodney practically sprinted up the stone steps to the gate. He paused for a moment just in front of the shimmering blue surface and turned to look back into the forest from whence he'd come. Then, with a deep breath, he stepped through the gate and was transported almost instantaneously light years across the galaxy.
> 
> When Rodney emerged at the far end of the wormhole it was as if the last of his strength deserted him. Not that he'd realized it at the time, but he'd been operating on nothing more than adrenaline and desperation and now that he'd reached his objective, his body had simply given up. His knees crumpled as he felt his limbs start to shake and his vision clouded. With a start, he realized that he was at the start of a serious hypoglycemic reaction.
> 
> "Dr McKay?" someone called from somewhere beyond the fog that was obscuring his sight, but Rodney could not place the voice. "Dr. McKay!" it called again and Rodney struggled to get to his feet, blinking fast in an effort to clear his eyes.
> 
> He heard the sound of heavy footsteps and then felt someone crouch down beside him, strong arms clasping his biceps and hauling him to his feet. He let out a cry as his broken arm was jolted and swayed dangerously in place, his head spinning as the pain reverberated through his body. He thought he heard someone shout out for a medic and he found himself being urged to sit down on the ground. He sank back down gratefully and crossed his legs, cradling his broken arm against his chest and letting his pounding head fall. As the pain receded to a manageable level, he looked up quickly, his good hand reaching out to catch hold of the marine who was still kneeling beside him.
> 
> "Colonel Sheppard," he said urgently. "He's still there, on the planet, we have to go back." He shook the man's arm as he spoke and then tried to lever himself back up to his feet. "Come on, we need to go _now_ , before they find him!"
> 
> "Dr McKay," another voice said, and Rodney turned to find himself face to face with Major Lorne, one of few marines whose name he actually recalled. "Can you tell me what happened to you?"
> 
> "What happened to us? We were abducted and tortured, that's what happened to us!" Rodney snapped, furious that he was having to waste time in this manner. "Obviously, we escaped, but Colonel Sheppard has been seriously injured and we need to go rescue him now, right away, this instant in fact!"
> 
> "Sir, I want to get the Colonel back as much as you do, but I need to know what we're up against." Lorne cast a quick glance over Rodney's state of disrepair, beckond the waiting medic forward and handed over a power bar. While the medic started looking over Rodney's wrapped arm, Rodney tore open the wrapper of the power bar with his teeth and ate in three large bites.
> 
> As the sugar hit his bloodstream, Rodney took a deep breath and tried again. "Look, Major," he said with exaggerated patience. "We were taken from Tebex by a group of technology-mad thugs to some other planet where there was an Ancient testing facility. We were threatened, tortured and abused, the Colonel in particular – who we need to go rescue now, before he is re-captured and very probably killed!"
> 
> To Rodney's relief, that seemed to get Lorne moving. The Major quickly started ordering his SAR team to prepare and Rodney was grateful to see that one of Atlantis' jumpers was on site.
> 
> "Right then, where is he and what kind of resistance can we expect?" Lorne asked as his men prepped the jumper.
> 
> "The Colonel's about 20 kilometers due west of the gate," Rodney replied, shooing away the hovering medic with his good hand and a deep scowl. "We escaped the compound in a prototype glider. Hey, you, do something useful and get me a scanner," Rodney said to the medic, snapping his fingers with impatience. "I rigged large parts of the compound where we were held to explode as we made our escape and thoroughly trashed their computer network. As a result, I think it unlikely that someone would have located the crash site yet, but I can't guarantee it."
> 
> Just then the medic returned, an Ancient scanner in his hand. Handicapped somewhat by his broken arm, Rodney sat down on the steps of the gate and rested the scanner on his knee so he could use his left hand to operate the device. Working as quickly as his tired brain would allow, he opened up the scanner's protocols and created a scan specifically designed to detect the latent power signature of the glider. "Okay," he said as he compiled the new scan, "this should allow us to pinpoint Sheppard's location from the jumper." He nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Right then, let's go," he said, wincing as he got shakily to his feet and started to walk towards the jumper. He was moving carefully so as not to jar his head or arm yet further, but despite his re-wrapped arm and the power bar, his head was still spinning.
> 
> "Oh no you don't, doc," Lorne said to Rodney, catching his uninjured arm and holding him up when he would have crumpled to the ground. "Just give me the gate address and the scanner and let us handle this one." He turned to on of the marines. "Johnson, once we're through, dial Atlantis and get Dr. McKay home. Make sure you also have Dr Beckett and a med team standing by for when we return with the Colonel."
> 
> "No." The refusal came instantly to Rodney's lips; he wanted to be there when they rescued John, needed to be there, to see that John was truly alright. However, no sooner had he spoken than his body revolted once more, and he found himself sagging heavily in Lorne's grip.
> 
> "Shit," Lorne cursed. "Rogers, help me with him," he ordered the medic as he gently lowered Rodney to the ground.
> 
> "Okay," Rodney admitted to Lorne as the medic started scanning him again. "Perhaps it would be best if I left you to it after all, Major." He reached out for the scanner he'd dropped when he'd almost lost consciousness and inputted the gate address with shaking fingers before handing it over to Lorne.
> 
> "Thanks, doc," Lorne replied as he took the scanner and started heading for the jumper. "Don't worry," he said just before he entered the ship, "we'll bring him home."
> 
> Rodney nodded and from somewhere found the strength to watch as the jumper lifted off and the stargate was dialed. The event horizon dissipated and, finally, Rodney let his eyes drift closed.
> 
> ****
> 
> The sound of soft voices woke Rodney from a deep sleep. For a moment he froze in horror, his mind still convinced he was back in the cell listening to the cruel whispers of Torquin's men. His panic ramped up a notch when he realized that he could not feel the warmth of John's body lying alongside his own. His eyes flew open and he jerked upright with a cry, "John!"
> 
> The voices stilled and he felt two pairs of hands come to rest comfortably on his body, encouraging him to lie back down. "Shh, it's alright, laddie. You're home, on Atlantis, you're safe," a voice said.
> 
> Blinking furiously, Rodney started to take in the familiar surroundings of the infirmary. Turning to one side, in the direction of the voice, he found Carson staring down at him with concerned eyes. Turning his head to his other side, he found Elizabeth looking back at him, a relieved smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He let out a deep breath and sagged back down into his pillow, his eyes drifting closed as his heart rate returned to normal. "Atlantis," he said under his breath, "thank goodness."
> 
> "Aye, laddie, you're home," Carson agreed. "The two of you gave us all quite a scare, you know."
> 
> Rodney's eyes flew open again. "John?" he asked, a cold tendril of fear coiling once more in his belly.
> 
> "He's fine," Elizabeth assured him quickly. "With your instructions, Major Lorne and his team were able to extract him from the planet with no difficulties whatsoever."
> 
> "He's okay then?" Rodney asked with some trepidation.
> 
> Carson's brow furrowed for a moment, and Rodney felt his breath catch. "He is now," Carson replied finally. "But I think you got out of that place in just the nick of time. The Colonel had been severely beaten over a course of many days, the stab wound in his side and several of his lashes had become infected, in addition to the injuries he sustained during the crash." Carson listed the extent of John's injuries in a cool and clinical manner, but Rodney could clearly see his outrage at what had happened to the Colonel.
> 
> "Yes, I am aware well aware of that, Carson," he interrupted sharply, not wanting to be reminded further of the details of John's torture. "I was there too, you know." He started to struggle to sit up, his arm twingeing slightly as he moved.
> 
> "I know that, Rodney," Carson replied calmly, reaching out to raise the head of Rodney's bed and re-arrange his pillows so that he was comfortably supported. "Your injuries are also quite grave, especially given how dangerously low your blood sugar levels had fallen by the time you reached the alpha site."
> 
> "Yes, well," Rodney huffed, somewhat embarrassed because he knew only too well that John had suffered far more than he had at Torquin's hands. "It's not like I had much choice in the matter."
> 
> "You both got home," Elizabeth said, reaching out to squeeze Rodney's shoulder. "That's the most important thing, okay? You did good, Rodney."
> 
> Rodney swallowed and looked down into his lap, unsure of how to deal with Elizabeth's kind words. Not that long ago, rather than complimenting him, she had been berating him vehemently for his foolhardiness in the aftermath of Arcturus. Even though Rodney had apologized to her profusely afterwards, wishing that there was something, _anything_ , he could do to regain her respect, she had since remained distant in her dealings with him. To have her here now, at his bedside and offering him her support, meant more to him than he could say. He felt his cheeks heat up as he slowly lifted his head to return her gaze to see nothing but affection and relief in her gray eyes.
> 
> "I did what I had to do," he replied. "We both did, but... thank you. It... it means a lot to me to hear you say that."
> 
> Elizabeth nodded and gave Rodney's shoulder another squeeze.
> 
> "I've repaired the fractures to your radius and ulna, although you should be careful not to strain you arm again for a few days while the bone knits together completely," Carson told Rodney.
> 
> Rodney nodded and did a quick internal check to see how he was feeling. "I feel alright," he concluded after a few moments. He felt slightly nauseous and his head still ached a little, but all of that was nothing he hadn't experienced before from a hypoglycemic reaction. He was also desperately worried about John – and the implications of _that_ was something he would have to examine later in greater detail. Right now, however, he just needed to find out more about John. "So, what about the Colonel? Where is he and how is he doing?"
> 
> "I'm keeping him in one of the isolation rooms for the moment," Carson said. "It's just a precautionary measure, mostly because of the infection on his chest. He suffered a concussion as a result of the crash, a nasty cut on his head, and a broken leg, but he's responding well to treatment. Really, all he needs to now is to take it easy – like you yourself, Rodney," Carson finished with a stern look.
> 
> "Alright, alright," Rodney said. "I'll rest, as long as you tell me when I can get out of here." His eyes narrowed suspiciously, "And how come you're not coming after me with your fangs?"
> 
> "Because I already got to you while you were unconscious," Carson replied, grinning back, looking completely unrepentant.
> 
> "Hey!" Rodney complained, only to be interrupted by Elizabeth before he could get going on his rant at Carson.
> 
> "I'm sure once Carson is happy that you've had enough rest, he will release you from the infirmary and you can go visit John," she said placatingly.
> 
> Rodney huffed a little and then turned towards Carson with a scowl.
> 
> "Okay, okay, Rodney," Carson said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "There's no need to look at me like that. I'm just in the process of running one last test and, provided the results are clear, _then_ you'll be free to go. In fact, I'll just go check on them now."
> 
> Rodney's scowl lessened a little at Carson's reassurances as the doctor backed away from Rodney's bed and headed towards his office. He was just about to ask Elizabeth whether he could at least be permitted to have his laptop whilst he waited for the test results when another thought suddenly struck him.
> 
> "Teyla and Ronon," he gasped aloud. "What happened to them? Where they taken as well? Did they escape? Are-"
> 
> "Rodney, calm down," Elizabeth interjected quickly. "They both made it back to Atlantis shortly after you and the Colonel were abducted. Since then, they have been out constantly trying to find out where you had been taken."
> 
> Rodney relaxed slightly at that, relieved to hear that all of the members of his team were okay.
> 
> "They're both in with John now," Elizabeth continued. "And I'm sure will be here shortly. In fact..." She trailed off as Ronon and Teyla emerged into the main section of the infirmary from one of the small isolation rooms beyond.
> 
> "Rodney," Teyla exclaimed with a delighted smile. "It is so good to see you awake."
> 
> "McKay," Ronon echoed with a nod.
> 
> "He's awake?" Elizabeth asked Teyla, and Rodney saw her nod in affirmation. "Good, I'll just pop in and see him," she said. "Rodney, you rest, okay?"
> 
> "Yes, yes," Rodney replied with a wave of his hand as Elizabeth headed towards the isolation room. He then turned back to Teyla and Ronon. "You've seen John, then," he asked. "He's... um... he's okay?"
> 
> "Yes, we have seen him," Teyla replied. Beside her, Ronon grunted and she cast him a quick look before turning to smile reassuringly at Rodney. "He is fine."
> 
> Ronon grunted again and Rodney looked at him curiously. "What-" he started to ask, but Ronon interrupted him.
> 
> "Glad you're okay, McKay," he said shortly and then turned on his heel and strode out of the infirmary at a fast pace.
> 
> Rodney turned to Teyla in confusion. "What's up with him?" he asked. Sure, Ronon was never one for conversation, but that had been a little abrupt even for him.
> 
> A frown appeared on Teyla's brow as she looked towards the door from which Ronon had disappeared. "He's angry," she said, turning back to Rodney with a sigh. "He blames himself for you and John's abduction."
> 
> Rodney shook his head in confusion. "But neither of you were anywhere near us when we were attacked."
> 
> "True," Teyla said. "We were at the stargate, but we returned to the market when we heard the sound of gunfire. We could tell that you were both in trouble, but we could not get to you in time. However, we did encounter the men who took you just inside the market gates."
> 
> Rodney's eyes widened in surprise. "You did?" he asked. He could not recall anything from the time when he'd been hit in the market to waking up in the cell facing Torquin. "What happened? Why didn't they take you too? After all, presumably they knew you were with us as they'd seen Ronon and John together earlier."
> 
> "Yes," Teyla replied. "And it became even more obvious when we attempted to prevent them from taking you through the stargate. However, they were obviously accomplished mercenaries, familiar with abducting people. As soon as Ronon and I drew our weapons, they returned fire. They outnumbered us, but we should have been better prepared." She trailed off and looked up at Rodney with regret in her dark eyes. "We were able to prevent ourselves from being captured, but we could not recover you or John. I am sorry," she said.
> 
> "Don't be ridiculous," Rodney replied, uncomfortable with Teyla's unnecessary apology. "It wasn't your fault. How could you possibly have known what would happen? If it's anyone's fault, then it was mine; I was the one who insisted that we look for Ancient technology. If we had just concentrated on trading for the supplies and food we needed, none of this would have happened."
> 
> Teyla shook her head, reaching out to place her hand lightly on Rodney's arm. "It is no one's fault, Rodney. I am only relieved that you and John were able to escape and that you were not too seriously injured."
> 
> An image of John hanging bound and bleeding from the hook in front of Torquin's sneering figure flashed briefly through Rodney's mind and he flinched. "John," he said, his voice cracking a little. "John was bleeding – they... he... he was beaten. Badly. Every day. I worked for them and was fed and he... he was whipped and tortured..."
> 
> "Rodney," Teyla said, squeezing his arm again. "John is fine, really," she reassured him.
> 
> Teyla's words were calmly confident and Rodney found himself breathing a little easier at her confirmation of John's condition. A part of him was somewhat startled by the strength of his reaction to the news of John's recovery. He cared about John, always had, but his feelings were different now, deeper as a result of everything they had been through together. Nevertheless, they were back on Atlantis now, he reminded himself sternly, not trapped together in that dark, cold cell; things between them were bound to be different.
> 
> "You will be able to see him soon, I expect," Teyla was saying.
> 
> "Yes," Rodney replied. "Good." But on the inside he was worried. How would he behave with John given everything? How _should_ he behave?
> 
> "Rodney?" Teyla's query drew him back out into the present. "Are you certain you are feeling alright?" she asked.
> 
> "I... Yes," he said at last. "Or rather, I will be."
> 
> Teyla cocked her head to one side as she looked at him in confusion. Suddenly, her eyes flickered over to the isolation rooms briefly before returning to Rodney, and her face cleared. "I see," she said with a gentle smile. "I am very pleased to hear it. I will leave you to your thoughts."
> 
> Rodney nodded as she turned to go, his eyes following her as she left the infirmary. He found his eyes immediately drawn back to the isolation room in which John was being held. He sighed to himself and tried to figure out just how to approach his relationship with John now they were back on Atlantis.
> 
> Rodney had always had faith in his intelligence; it had been the one constant in an ever-changing world and it had given him the confidence to face any new situation. However, his belief in himself and his abilities had been dealt a serious blow during his brief time spent working at the SGC in Cheyenne Mountain, when Samantha Carter had upstaged him and succeeded in rescuing Teal'c when he had himself declared the man lost. His exile to Siberia had been a cold and lonely one, but Rodney had focused his mind and continued with his work, determined that through it he would once again prove his worth. He had not cared what his colleagues thought of him, rather it had been his miscalculation which had preyed upon his mind. He'd found comfort in his research into Ancient technology and, when the Ancient base had been discovered in Antarctica, had felt like he'd finally found someplace he could really put his expertise to work.
> 
> Life on Atlantis had been like a dream come true; the knowledge and possibilities the city offered were endless, could easily provide Rodney with enough work to keep him busy for numerous lifetimes. Yet, with Doranda, he had come so very close to losing everything all over again. He hadn't had to suffer through a physical exile this time, but the distance that John put between them had been far worse. Before their abduction and incarceration, they had barely been speaking to each other. That had all changed over past few weeks and, during their captivity, he'd come to rely on John more than ever before. Surely John wouldn't go back to treating him like he had, would he? Perhaps they could go back to being friends, like they had been before Arcturus. But Rodney found that even that was an outcome he didn't particularly relish. To his surprise, he found that what he wanted was whatever it was that had developed between them – even though they were now back on Atlantis, Rodney found that he didn't want anything to change.
> 
> "Ah, Rodney," Carson bustled out of his office, notepad in hand, and made his way over to Rodney's bedside. "You'll be pleased to hear that your test results are clear, so you are free to go. You'll want to be seeing the Colonel, I assume."
> 
> Rodney nodded as he shoved the covers down and turned to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He frowned down at the scrubs he was wearing and then looked back up at Carson. "I don't suppose you have any spare uniforms?" he asked.
> 
> Carson shook his head and Rodney sighed. "Alright, this will have to do for now," he said as he pushed himself off the bed and made his way over to the isolation rooms. After all, he thought to himself as he went, John had certainly seen him in far less.
> 
> He entered the private room to find John sitting up in the single bed within, wearing scrubs similar to Rodney's, with Elizabeth seated beside him. She turned towards Rodney at his entry and smiled at him. "So, Carson released you, Rodney?" she asked.
> 
> "Obviously," Rodney replied distractedly before looking beyond her at John. "Hey," he said quietly.
> 
> "Hey," John echoed, his expression unreadable.
> 
> "I'll leave you two to it," Elizabeth said. "Do please rest, John," she cautioned. "Major Lorne has everything under control."
> 
> "I hope that includes all the paperwork," John quipped as she rose from the chair.
> 
> Elizabeth shook her head at him and touched Rodney's arm lightly as she passed him, her laughter trailing after her as she left the room.
> 
> "So," Rodney said nervously as he walked closer to John's bed, feeling the weight of John's gaze fall heavily on him. "How are you doing?"
> 
> "Not to bad," John replied with a shrug. "My wounds are healing up nicely and the doc says it won't be too much longer before I can get out of here. You?"
> 
> "Oh, I'm fine," Rodney replied as he sat down in the chair Elizabeth had vacated. "Carson just released me, in fact."
> 
> John quirked an eyebrow at him. "So, you're just trying out a new look?" he asked gesturing towards Rodney's scrubs.
> 
> Rodney rolled his eyes. "I can always leave, if you'd prefer," he replied, making as if to get up from the chair.
> 
> "Nah, that's okay. I suppose you can stay," John said with a grin. "After all, I've kinda got used to you being around."
> 
> Rodney snorted at this, but relaxed back into the chair. His eyes moved over John's body of their own accord. Despite his stay in the infirmary, John still looked pale and tired. There was a bandage over the cut on his temple and Rodney could make out that his chest was also wrapped beneath the thin material of his scrubs.
> 
> "Hey," John said. "Stop fretting, Rodney. I told you I'm fine."
> 
> "I do not fret," Rodney replied with a sniff, crossing his arms and then wincing as his newly healed forearm twinged painfully.
> 
> "Careful there, buddy," John cautioned. "And, hey, we did alright – plan worked and all."
> 
> "After a fashion," Rodney agreed.
> 
> "Par for the course."
> 
> "Quite," Rodney replied with a small smile, feeling himself relax as John grinned back at him – it was all going to be alright after all. He leaned forward without even thinking, drawn in by the warmth of John's smile and his expression which was finally open and unguarded, to place his hand on John's forearm. John's reaction was instantaneous; in the blink of an eye all the emotion in his face drained away and the light in his eyes banked out.
> 
> "I'm sorry," Rodney stumbled awkwardly as he pulled his hand away, feeling himself flush and wondering what exactly he had done wrong.
> 
> "I just... We're back home now and..." John trailed off, looking away for a moment and taking a deep breath. When he turned to Rodney once more, Rodney could clearly see that the Colonel's impenetrable shields had gone up. The warmth he had been starting to feel sputtered and died at the coolness of John's eyes. "And I don't think this is appropriate anymore, McKay."
> 
> "Oh," Rodney said, trying desperately to keep the hurt off his face. "I... I see... Of course not, Colonel," he replied tightly. "I'll ...um... I'd better... ah... go," he finished quickly, before standing and leaving the room as fast as he could. All of a sudden, this was the very last place he wanted to be.
> 
> ****
> 
> John watched Rodney leave the infirmary and let his head fall back on his pillow in sheer exhaustion. It was too much: the capture, the torture, the escape, the hours trapped in the glider while he waited for rescue or death. The appearance of Lorne and his company of marines had been almost a painful relief, only to become an exercise in patience as he had to wait to be carefully extricated from the wreckage. Then blessed morphine, and the disconnection from time and space during his trip back to Atlantis and into Beckett's gloved and waiting hands. Carson had his turn first and hours passed in surgery. When he had awakened, there was Ronon and Teyla. The sight of the two of them alive and well had struck something so close to his heart that he had briefly felt the sting of tears and chided himself for being such a big baby. Elizabeth came after that and there was the effort of playing to her expectations. Last, but not least by any means, came Rodney. He had been so sure he could be what they all wanted and needed from him, the smiling, laid-back John Sheppard, back once again from a near-death experience. He'd done it before. He could do it again.
> 
> Only when Rodney had touched his arm, he'd chosen to act with ruthless precision, striking a clean cut now to save everyone heartache on down the line. He was being a jerk, he knew that. But it was necessary. _Jerk? More like asshole._ He ignored the sarcastic little voice in his head.
> 
> He'd had a long time to think while waiting for his rescue. Hours pinned against the console as the sun climbed high into the sky overhead and beat down with burning rays. Watching as the shadows re-formed and slanted over the interior of the glider as the sun and time crawled slowly past. Time to contemplate all possible outcomes. Rodney could have failed to make it to the gate—re-captured or worse. John would have then have slowly succumbed to his injuries and the lack of food and water. Or Torquin's men could have found him whether or not Rodney made it to the gate. He could hardly have held them off for long, weapon or no weapon. He'd have used it on himself before letting himself be taken captive again. There had been a touchy moment, when he'd heard the sounds of approaching men, before Lorne had announced his presence, when John had thought he'd have to use the gun.
> 
> That Rodney might be successful in reaching help, leading to his rescue, had seemed unlikely, but really, he'd been in tighter spots than this before. It was only the beatings that had knocked the stuffing out of him, that made him feel so hopeless.
> 
> So he had sat in the glider, occasionally waving off the stinging gnats attracted to the dried blood on the side of his face, worrying a little about how seriously his legs might be injured and thinking a lot about Rodney. The last thing John had wanted was another Doranda. It wasn't fair to Rodney, not after everything they'd been through. Not after everything Rodney had done for him. No, if they were rescued, the best that John could hope for was a return to pre-Doranda status. Friendship. Teammates. But no more.
> 
> And it would be up to him, he had known that. He had also known that if he let Rodney get too close, he'd be weak, he'd give in. By far the best course would be to establish right off the bat on their return that there could not be any more physical contact between them. Even as he had made his decision, the sarcastic monitor within told him he was being stupid. _If you and Rodney both get out of his mess alive, then you should take what you can get. Next time you might not be so lucky._ He had grimly suggested to his internal self that he might not be so lucky this time. He'd thought that would be sufficient to shut the voice up. Instead, the voice let fly a final volley. _Death would be the easy way out, wouldn't it?_ He'd spent a long while after that calculating how much time had passed and when was the soonest he could possibly expect a rescue party.
> 
> He'd been surprised when they'd actually shown up. Rodney had made it. The wave of relief he'd felt in that knowledge had staggered him and only strengthened his resolve to maintain a friendly, working relationship with Rodney, even as he made bad jokes with Lorne's team.
> 
> _Why couldn't Rodney see that?_ John laid one arm across his eyes, the light in the infirmary seeming far too bright after all his time in the cell. He was suddenly, inexplicably angry with Rodney. Damn him for putting John in this position in the first place. Couldn't he see what was at stake here? John _had_ to stay here in Atlantis. He had to defend the city, and as such, the gate to Earth as well. He couldn't risk a dishonorable discharge over some misplaced _feelings_ for god's sake. Feelings generated by the circumstances of their imprisonment. Okay, to be fair, the attraction was there before their abduction, but the hostage situation had intensified things. John would have never acted on that inappropriate desire if not for their capture. _Oh yeah?_ His inner voice challenged that he had been acting on it, just in a selfish, self-preserving way by hurting Rodney with the withdrawal of his friendship.
> 
> John lowered his arm and reached for the call button. Carson appeared shortly, a worried frown between his brows.
> 
> John gave him a weak smile. "I don't suppose you could give me something for pain?"
> 
> Carson's eyebrows popped up and then he glanced quickly at his watch.
> 
> "Or just something to help me sleep," John quickly amended.
> 
> Carson's face became sympathetic. "Aye, lad, I have just the thing. You lie back here and just rest your eyes a moment and I'll be back in a tick."
> 
> John closed his eyes. His smile at Carson's words faded as he listened to the doctor leave the room. _I just don't want to feel anything anymore._
> 
> ****
> 
> Heightmeyer showed up while he was just finishing up breakfast. "Hello, Kate," he said warily, pushing a piece of bread around the plate to catch the last of the scrambled eggs on his fork. He'd lost his appetite at her entrance, but continuing to eat gave him something to do.
> 
> "Colonel. I thought I would come see you, since Dr. Beckett informs me you won't be discharged for another day or so." The expedition psychologist pulled up a chair to sit beside his bed and John recognized that a therapy session had begun. With a sigh, he laid down his fork and set aside his tray.
> 
> "I didn't know you made housecalls," he quipped, because he was expected to do so.
> 
> Kate Heightmeyer cocked her head at him, as she blinked her smoky grey-green eyes for a thoughtful moment. "You've been through a terrible ordeal. I thought it prudent not to wait before meeting with you."
> 
> "Must help too, knowing that your patient can't run away." John gave his little half-smile, because this sort of verbal swordplay was something he and Kate did as well. He was tempted to ask her what prompted the recent change in hair color from blonde to vibrant red, but then decided that would be out of line.
> 
> "Colonel, you are always running away from me," Kate admitted with a sigh. "Even when you're standing still." She put up a hand briefly, as she gave a little shake to her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It was unprofessional and inappropriate. But sometimes you try the patience of a saint." She grinned suddenly. "But let's talk about you."
> 
> John barely refrained from the eye roll. Thoughts of inappropriate and unprofessional behavior dragged his mind inexorably towards Rodney and he had a sudden, vivid image of Rodney wrapped around his shivering body, one warm hand shoved down into his pants, working his cock as Rodney sucked on his neck. He ruthlessly pushed those thoughts away as well. There was no getting around this; he would have to talk to Kate in order to get cleared for duty again. He realized with a degree of bitterness that in some ways, his discussion with Kate was not all that different from his interrogation by Torquin. Especially when it came to the things he would chose to reveal or keep hidden. He felt overwhelmingly weary. "Fine. Where would you have me start?" he asked with a sigh.
> 
> ****
> 
> Almost everyone tip-toed around John during the following weeks. They seemed genuinely glad to see him, but kept their distance, offering tentative little smiles should he make eye contact. It was restful at first, until it became annoying. He wasn't made of glass, damn it. Elizabeth had, by necessity, held individual de-briefing sessions with the team. He still hadn't heard the full story of what happened to Ronon and Teyla; he'd have to sit down at some point and find out to them on Tebex. But at the moment, he was on restricted duty—and that meant no running with Ronon or sparring with Teyla. He figured he'd catch up with them later.
> 
> Rodney was a different story. He'd managed to avoid having to do anything about Rodney at all the first few days after his release from the infirmary. When he'd finally asked, he'd discovered that Rodney was hard at work in the labs, trying to re-create some of the technology he'd seen during their captivity, as well as searching the Atlantean database for references to the weapons system Torquin had him working on. John himself had spent another day in the infirmary and two days in his rooms, on Carson's orders. The first thing he'd done after he was released was take a long shower with water as hot as he could possibly tolerate. He stayed under the needle-sharp spray until the water began to turn cold, something he'd not done since the year before, when he and Rodney had been the only survivors from that disastrous mission to check out the grounded Hive ship.
> 
> Elizabeth, cool and elegant, had been by several times to see him, as well as Lorne with a whole ream of paperwork. "No time like the present, sir," he'd smiled, before dumping the back-log of reports in John's lap.
> 
> Elizabeth had also been in contact with the leader of Torquin's world, which John had discovered was aptly named Quill. The Quillian leader had sorrowfully expressed regret but that he'd had no idea what the lately deceased Torquin had been doing during his absence off-world. Elizabeth has expressed equal regret and informed the despot that she naturally had to tell all her teams as well as their allies to sever all contact with the Quillians. "He's squawking with fear at the moment," Elizabeth had informed John with an oddly vulpine smile, "so perhaps we can get some technological information out of them after all."
> 
> There'd been the usual city status briefings in which the entire meeting room was filled with people giving long, boring reports. When Rodney appeared, he looked frazzled and tired. If John's team was suspiciously absent in his off-time, he couldn't help but be the tiniest bit relieved.
> 
> This morning however, he went down early to the mess and as he came out of the line, he saw Rodney and Radek sitting at one of the tables, finishing up their breakfast. Now was as good a time as any to show Rodney that his actions in the infirmary didn't mean he didn't want to be friends. He squared his shoulders before he caught himself and forced them back into a casual slouch. He ambled over to the table where the scientists were sitting and set his tray down at an empty spot. "Hey, Rodney. Radek." He gave a nod with the drawl.
> 
> Zelenka looked up and grinned. "Colonel. You are perhaps feeling better, no?"
> 
> "No. I mean, yes." Radek always confused him when he did that. John glanced over at Rodney to see if he caught the mistake. Rodney, instead of laughing at John's goof-up, avoided his eye. John pulled out the chair and eased into it. "So what are you guys up to these days?"
> 
> "Well," Radek began when it was obvious Rodney had no intention of speaking. "Rodney believes that we can..."
> 
> "Excuse me." Rodney stood up sharply, tossing down his silverware with a clatter and picking up his tray. "Radek, I'll meet you in the labs. Colonel." He gave a stiff nod in John's direction before stalking off to turn in his tray.
> 
> Zelenka looked helplessly at John for a moment and then gave a little shrug. Shit. John threw down his napkin and went after Rodney, abandoning his tray on the table.
> 
> "Rodney. _McKay_." He called out after Rodney, who was stomping down the corridor at such a pace John had to jog to catch up. At the sound of his name, Rodney's back stiffened and he came to a halt, spinning around to glare at John just as he was reaching out to snag Rodney by the arm. Rodney hauled his arm out of reach like John was a Wraith. It felt like a slap in the face.
> 
> "What do you want, Colonel?" Rodney snapped at him, lips flattened in a thin line, his eyes glittering with a cold anger.
> 
> "Jeez, McKay, who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?"
> 
> Rodney surprised him by suddenly stepping forward into his space. "I can't do this, do you hear me?" He emphasized his point by poking John sharply in the chest.
> 
> "Ow." John made a face and knocked Rodney's hand away, rubbing at the sore place where Rodney jabbed him. "You can't do what?"
> 
> Rodney's face fell for a split second when he realized he'd probably poked John over an injury, but then his expression hardened again. "This. This." He waved his hands around, as though to encompass the two of them, the city and maybe the planet as well. "I can't...I _won't_ sit back and let you blow hot and cold all over me. You don't want to be friends, _fine_. I get it. I embarrass you? Okay, not the first time, I get it. You don't want me on your team anymore, fine, I'll resign. But I will not be obligated to get a detailed John Sheppard weather analysis every morning so I can tell which way the wind is blowing!" Rodney's voice rose in volume and pitch at the end of his last sentence until he was shouting.
> 
> John couldn't help it; he cut his glance sideways to see if anyone was overhearing them. "Rodney..." he began, but Rodney threw both of his hands in the air in a gesture of annoyed resignation and spun on his heel. John let him go.
> 
> He wasn't proud of that. But he wasn't in the habit of second-guessing his decisions and damn it, he was right about this one. Rodney would just have to get over it.
> 
> His resolution lasted through most of the day. On his way to dinner, he ran into Teyla in one of the corridors. He stopped to say 'hi' and to see if she had eaten dinner yet.
> 
> "You look like you are feeling much better than the last time I saw you, John." Teyla smiled sweetly at him.
> 
> "Yeah," John shrugged off the injuries. So he was kidnapped, whipped, beaten and had crash-landed in an experimental glider. No big deal. He was the military CO after all. Everyone counted on him being fine. "I feel fine. Beckett's gonna clear me for full duty at the beginning of the week."
> 
> "I am glad to hear this." Teyla's smile got tight and small. Like a striking cobra, her hand flashed out and grabbed him by the ear. "Come with me."
> 
> "Ow! Teyla! Ear! Ear!" he yelped as he found himself being helplessly dragged towards one of the storage closets. Teyla smacked the control panel sharply with her free hand, pulling John into the small room behind her and then propelling him into the center of the closet. A light panel above cast a faint yellow glow around them.
> 
> "Ow, goddamn it. What the hell's your problem?" he growled, rubbing his ear.
> 
> "Sit down," Teyla pointed at some boxes off to one side before replacing her hands on her hips. "Or slouch against a vertical surface. I don't care. You _will_ listen to me."
> 
> John felt his jaw drop in shock a second before the anger kicked in. "Let me out of this room." He spoke with deadly quietness, hands balling into fists. The small enclosed space felt like Torquin's interrogation room.
> 
> "Not until I've had my say," Teyla lifted her chin.
> 
> "You're out of line, Teyla," John snapped, stepping forward to brush past her. She stopped him cold by placing a hand against his chest. He looked down at the small palm on the left side of his chest, covering his heart. The Athosians simply did not touch people in this manner. John felt his respiratory rate increase; knew that Teyla had to be aware of his thudding heart.
> 
> "You will hear what I have to say first," she said calmly, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She continued to look up at him, eyes wide and dark, until he took a deep breath and stepped back.
> 
> He leaned against the storage rack behind him, crossing his arms. "I'm listening."
> 
> A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth before her face became serious again. "Ronon is leaving the city."
> 
> Of all the things he'd expected Teyla to say, that was not one of them. He straightened involuntarily. " _What_? Why?"
> 
> Teyla shook her head in frustration, the light from above casting a golden halo around her coppery hair. "He feels responsible for the capture of you and Rodney. We both do, but Ronon is taking it as a personal failure. He does not believe he belongs on your team any longer."
> 
> "Oh for...he's being ridiculous. If anyone's at fault, it's me. I was the one who took Rodney into the bad part of town, who failed to size up the risk in time. You guys weren't even around. I'm the team leader, the blame ultimately lies with me."
> 
> There was a long silence as Teyla simply stared at him. He shifted his weight uneasily. "What?"
> 
> "You have been avoiding everyone since your return. What else was Ronon to think but that you somehow blamed him?"
> 
> John sighed. "Fine. I'll go talk to him. Okay? We good now?" He started forward again only to be stopped by Teyla's upraised hand.
> 
> "What did you say to Rodney?" The look in her eye was one of steely disapproval.
> 
> "Nothing. Really. It's just that..."
> 
> Teyla interrupted. "He was fine when we visited him in the infirmary. But since then he has been rude and unpleasant to everyone. I know he does not blame Ronon or myself for his capture, he has said as much to me. But he is clearly hurting, John, and I want to know what you have done to him this time."
> 
> John felt his face lock down. "I don't know what you mean," he said stiffly. It felt like his lips were frozen.
> 
> Teyla's expression grew suddenly pitying. "You were very hard on him after Doranda. Surely you do not blame him now for your capture?"
> 
> "I already told you, the blame's mine." This conversation was over. He moved to push past her for the door.
> 
> Teyla caught his arm in passing. "I do not understand. The two of you care for each other very much. Why is it that you will not allow yourself this small measure of happiness?"
> 
> John closed his eyes briefly. "Because I _can't_." He knew it wasn't really an answer, but Teyla seemed to understand him anyway.
> 
> "John," she said sadly. "You are the only one who thinks so." Slowly, against his rigid resistance, she drew him into a hug. He held out for a moment, and then folded his arms around her small, strong frame. She held onto him until he reluctantly eased back.
> 
> "Talk to them." Teyla said with that quiet air of authority that meant she would beat you up if you didn't. She stepped aside to allow him access to the door.
> 
> "Um, okay," he said with a sigh of resignation.
> 
> ****
> 
> He sought out Ronon right away. Of the two, Ronon would be the easier one to deal with, the one to whom he actually knew what to say. He found Ronon in the gym, beating up his Marines. He watched from the doorway for a moment, only pretending to hide his smile. The newer recruits always needed to be taken down a peg or two on their arrival to Pegasus. They were so sure they were the biggest bad-asses in the galaxy. John felt it was part of his job to make them realize that though they might be tough and well-trained, Pegasus would eat them for breakfast if they weren't smart and careful as well. The more experienced soldiers kept coming back for Ronon's training because they knew it might save their lives one day. And because deep down, each one secretly wanted to be the one that took the Big Guy down. Seven years as a Runner, with the Wraith hunting him like an animal. Yeah, it wasn't going to be someone from _Earth_ that took Ronon down.
> 
> John watched as Ronon moved like a lazy lion surrounded by a pack of hyenas. He slowly demonstrated his moves to each of the four men watching him, dreads tied back off his face, the light from above gleaming on his impressive muscles as his arms moved in a carefully choreographed motion. Then, at Ronon's signal, the men moved in as one, and suddenly Ronon was a blur of speed and strength, scattering the soldiers like ten pins and ending up with an arm lock around the neck of one Marine—the mouthiest one, John noted. He couldn't help the grin.
> 
> "Work on your own in pairs," Ronon said gruffly, releasing the soldier with a little push. The Marine rubbed at his neck ruefully and then his eyes widened and he snapped to attention at the sight of John.
> 
> "As you were," John waved at him irritably. The rest of the soldiers broke into groups of two to work on the moves Ronon had taught them.
> 
> Ronon flicked a glance in John's direction and then went over the bench, picking up a towel to wipe the nearly non-existent sweat from his face and neck. John recognized a delaying tactic when he saw one—this was no different from when Zelenka removed his glasses to polish them or Elizabeth pausing at her desk to open a file before answering a question. It was just unusual to see it in Ronon.
> 
> "Hey, buddy." John walked over to the bench. "Doc says I can start running again tomorrow, but you gotta take it easy on me." He'd have normally been swimming by now to strengthen the healing leg fracture, but the skin lacerations and the knife wound were keeping him out of the water.
> 
> Ronon just looked at him silently for a long moment, before dropping the towel on the bench. Around them, the sounds of men grunting and bodies hitting the mats covered their quiet conversation.
> 
> "Ronon? Is there a problem?" John frowned even though he knew what Ronon's problem was.
> 
> "I think it's time for me to move on." Ronon's green eyes were always startling in contrast to his bronzed skin, but especially now, when they held such an intense expression.
> 
> John mentally took a deep breath. "Well, shit, Ronon. No one's gonna stop you if you really want to go, but I thought you _liked_ it here. You know, hot water, all the food you can eat, pint sized beds to sleep in..."
> 
> The corner of Ronon's mouth twitched at the mention of the beds. Teyla seemed to be the only person in Atlantis with a decent size bed and hers was Athosian-made. John wondered if he put in an order now, he could get his entire team new beds by Christmas. The amusement on Ronon's face was short-lived however, and John had to turn his attention back to a less-easily solved problem. "Look, I know this last mission was a bust, and if you no longer trust my judgment..."
> 
> Ronon's head jerked up and his eyes flared with anger. "You have no sense of self-preservation, do you? This is not the conversation to have in front of your men."
> 
> John gave a little half shrug. He had a very good sense of self-preservation; unfortunately, it seldom applied to his military career. "I'm just giving you a way out, Ronon. I can't keep you here if you want to leave. But I really need you on my team."
> 
> Unbelievably, Ronon dropped his gaze to the floor before speaking. "I let you down."
> 
> "You tell me what happened and I'll be the judge of that. As I recall, I was unconscious at the time."
> 
> Ronon's rueful, little-boy grin made a lightening-fast appearance and was gone again. "They were pros. They had abducted people before, you could tell. I don't think they meant to grab you guys until they saw McKay's scanner, but they moved into action when they did. I found out later that it was one of the reasons most of the sellers chose not to display any Ancient tech this year—there'd been problems before."
> 
> "We'll know to ask around in the future then," John nodded and made a _'go on'_ gesture.
> 
> "Teyla and I heard the gunfire and started back in your direction. There were more of them than we thought—several of the people in the crowd suddenly produced weapons and began covering for the men dragging you and McKay through the gate. Teyla took a hit from a stunner and went down. I had a line on one of the people carrying McKay, only a pregnant woman stepped in front of me. I should have shot her."
> 
> "Well, you couldn't know what your stunner would do to her and the baby up close..." John began.
> 
> Ronon cut him off with an angry gesture. "She wasn't really pregnant. She was with _them_. She pulled out her own stunner and knocked me out cold." He spat out the words in disgust. "The sellers by the gate realized what was happening and joined in to help; otherwise Teyla and I would probably be dead. No one got a good look at the gate address though."
> 
> "Okay, I would have fallen for that too. Ronon, these guys were pretty ruthless."
> 
> "I should have known better."
> 
> "Possibly. But if you had acted differently, you wouldn't be the guy I wanted on my team. Hell, if you had acted like that, you'd have killed Rodney the first time you laid eyes on him."
> 
> Ronon raised a single eyebrow at him. "Speaking of McKay..."
> 
> John forestalled him with a raised hand. "I know, I know. I'll talk to him. Just...think about what I said, okay?" He turned to leave the room.
> 
> "Sheppard." Ronon raised his voice over the noise in the gym.
> 
> John glanced back over his shoulder.
> 
> "I'll meet you in the morning at the usual time." Ronon picked up the towel again and slung it over one shoulder, a little smirk on his face as he did so.
> 
> Something in John's chest that had been unbearably tight, loosened and he took a deep breath of satisfaction. He gave Ronon a nod and left the gym.
> 
> ****
> 
> Tackling Rodney was not going to be so easy. He mentally rehearsed what he was going to say, but then he had the whole rest of the evening to kill time. A glance at his watch told him that he'd likely missed Rodney at dinner already—and Rodney could be expected to be in the labs until at least 2100. He thought of getting Radek to intervene, but then decided Rodney would get the wind up if he did. Best to leave it alone until Rodney decided to leave the labs for the night and try to catch him in his quarters. Once he had decided on a course of action, John put all thoughts of the upcoming confrontation out of his mind and busied himself with other tasks. He caught up with Elizabeth and discussed his team's return to active status, planned a nice, easy milk-run mission for their first off-world trip the following week and then he went down to the armory and lost himself in a hour of target practice.
> 
> Just after 2100, he radioed Radek to see if Rodney was still at work and was told by the puzzled Czech that Rodney had retired for the evening. "Thanks, Radek. I'll catch up with him later. No need to bother him now."
> 
> He headed for Rodney's quarters at brisk pace. It would be good to get this out in the open, to clear the air between them. Rodney would just have to understand that what happened between them was simply circumstantial. Two guys in a bad situation, helping each other out. No more than that. It didn't need to change things between them.
> 
> It wasn't until he had activated the door chime to Rodney's room that he realized his mistake.
> 
> He suddenly saw himself leaning forward in the cell to brush his lips against Rodney's brow. Cupping Rodney's face with his hand. Kissing him. These were hardly the actions of a mere fuck-buddy. In a flash, he realized that his whole prepared explanation was just another version of an 'it's not you, it's me,' speech, and no matter how true it happened to be, Rodney would never believe him. He knew too, why Rodney was so angry with him. He'd been telling himself that he'd had everything under control back in the prison cell, that what he and Rodney were doing was just about survival. How stupid could he be?
> 
> An aggravated bellow came from within the room. "This better be good!" Rodney yelled as he opened the door. His generalized annoyance tightened into anger at the sight of John.
> 
> "I am an idiot," John blurted out. He made a face and rubbed the back of his neck as Rodney simply stared at him.
> 
> "A big idiot," Rodney agreed coolly, after a long silence.
> 
> "Yeah." John tried not to shuffle his feet.
> 
> "A _monumental_ idiot," Rodney continued, expression sliding into a superior smirk.
> 
> "Are we going to stand here all night while you tell me in no uncertain terms what a jack-ass I am or are you going to let me in your room?" John fixed Rodney with what he hoped was a serious, bad-ass glare and crossed his arms.
> 
> Rodney raised an eyebrow and stepped aside, tossing one hand in the direction of the room in an ' _after you_ ' gesture.
> 
> John crossed to the center of Rodney's room and paused, uncertain as to what to do next.
> 
> ****
> 
> Rodney watched John enter his quarters, pause in the middle of the room and turn back, quirking an eyebrow in inquiry. Rodney sighed and moved away from the door, hearing it hiss closed behind him. He and John now alone in a room together for the first time since they'd shared a cell.
> 
> Rodney had done his best to avoid John since their fairly disastrous encounter in the infirmary, and knew that Sheppard had been doing likewise. They'd both managed pretty well, and Rodney had thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to get through this after all. That was until John had decided that he could just waltz back into Rodney's life and pretend as if nothing had ever happened between them.
> 
> "Well?" Rodney snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and doing his utmost to level his most ferocious glare at John. At least he hoped it was a glare – he certainly meant to glare, as opposed to stare... which he rather feared he might be doing as well. John looked... good; fantastic even. Rodney upgraded the glare to a scowl and tapped his foot impatiently. "Was there something you wanted, Colonel?" he asked before he did something stupid like try and reach out for John again. "Apart from get an independent opinion on your classification as an idiot? Which has been confirmed, by the way."
> 
> John pulled a face. "I've already confessed to that, Rodney," he replied, and the sound of Rodney's name on John's lips caused something inside Rodney to ache.
> 
> It had been harder than he expected, being home. Infinitely preferable to being anywhere else of course, but after all that had happened, it had been difficult to adjust. He'd had his compulsory three sessions with Heightmeyer, but other than admitting to the guilt he felt over their capture (yes, he knew it wasn't his fault) and the anger he felt over what he and John had been subjected to (well, he had blown up their entire base, so he did really feel like he'd gotten his revenge), he hadn't found their conversations particularly enlightening. Not that he'd expect to, especially since he had been very careful not to divulge the biggest impact their captivity had made on his life.
> 
> John let out a deep breath, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck and looking distinctly uncomfortable. Rodney shook his head and tried to work out what he should say. He was no longer able to keep up the pretense – he didn't really understand what he was feeling, but he knew that pretty soon something was going to have to give. He'd been in a vicious humor with the world at large over the past weeks – angry at himself and irritated beyond comprehension by everyone else. Despite this, his colleagues had not abandoned him. Zelenka had continued to work at his side, just as committed as ever and seemingly impervious to the barbed insults Rodney hurled randomly around the lab. Teyla too had been unusually attentive since his return. She had taken to showing up at the labs in the late evenings and escorting him to the commissary, obviously having appointed herself his keeper. Teyla, he thought suddenly.
> 
> "So, she got to you, huh?" he said to John. "Teyla," he clarified at John's questioning glance.
> 
> John's glaze slid away, his expression sheepish. "Yeah," he replied, and Rodney felt his heart sink – so that was all this was – a gesture to appease a teammate. He closed his eyes for a moment.
> 
> "But," John continued, " but I... I would have come anyway."
> 
> Rodney's eyes popped open again in surprise. "Oh?"
> 
> "Eventually," John admitted with a small smile. "Kinda felt like I got my head bitten off last time I tried."
> 
> Rodney felt himself flush. "Yes, well, I..." he muttered, his arms uncrossing of their own accord. "I'm not very good with, you know, this kind of..." His right hand waved between their bodies as he tried to come up with the appropriate word, "of... stuff," he concluded at last with a frown.
> 
> "And I'm obviously an expert," John replied with a smirk.
> 
> Rodney snorted. "Point," he said. "And so here we are."
> 
> John was silent for a moment. Rodney sighed again and pushed past him, moving over to collapse on his bed. "Well, Colonel," he said, for want of any better idea. "In answer to your question of this morning, I've been working on re-creating some of the defense grid schematics T-Torquin had me reviewing in the hopes that perhaps we could adapt them for Atlantis." He stumbled over the name slightly and was relieved when John didn't seem to notice.
> 
> "And how's it going?" John asked, finally coming unstuck from the centre of Rodney's floor and moving to grab the chair from the desk, spinning it around and straddling it all in one graceful move.
> 
> Rodney blinked and then shrugged, leaning back against the wall behind him and trying his utmost not to notice how appealing John looked with his long legs splayed out on either side of the chair and his strong forearms crossed over the back of it. "Not too badly," he said. "We're still a few weeks away from the practical experimentation stage, but I have a team working on building the initial testing models, so we'll see. It would be good if..." He trailed off for a moment, looking down at this lap as he finished the thought. "... if we could at least get something good out of that cursed place."
> 
> John didn't respond and the silence between them grew thick and uncomfortable. Rodney felt himself start to get annoyed with John again. He, at least, was trying here – inviting John into his quarters and making an attempt at civil conversation. The least the man could do was play his part. A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him. "Are you here to ask me to resign from the team after all?"
> 
> "No," John replied at once, his voice loud with surprise. "I... no," he repeated firmly.
> 
> Rodney finally gathered up sufficient courage to look up again, relieved to find that John's expression mirrored the surprise of his voice. John sat up straight in the chair, his eyes intent on Rodney as he braced himself for whatever it was he was about to say. "I don't want you to leave the team, Rodney," he said firmly. "Is... uh... is that what you want?"
> 
> "No," Rodney said, shaking his head. "But, I don't understand what you want... I mean, you..." Rodney trailed off, unsure of how to proceed, especially when John's face blanked out again and he looked away.
> 
> "Just what the hell are you doing here?" Rodney all but shouted, furious suddenly at the whole situation. "You come here, to my quarters, of your own accord might I add, and if all you can do is sit there and look uncomfortable, then you can damn well turn right around and leave again."
> 
> "I don't want to leave," John said quietly, his expression oddly intent. Rodney was vividly reminded of that first night together in the cells, John's body against his – somehow making everything okay even though nothing could have been further from the truth.
> 
> _It is your fight... your home._ Once more Teyla's words echoed through Rodney's head. If he wants this, truly wants John, then he has to be willing to fight for him. It isn't even a question, he realized with a start, he simply has no choice, he just knows.
> 
> "Then don't," Rodney said, pushing himself up off the bed and moving over to stand directly in front of John's chair. "Don't," he said again, watching as John slowly raised his head to look up at him.
> 
> "Okay, I won't," John replied in a breathless hurry and then, suddenly, their bodies were pressed tightly together. Rodney wasn't sure who had moved first; whether he'd pulled John upwards, as his hands were now clenched tight in the fabric of John's jacket, or whether John had surged up himself to press against Rodney of his own volition. Whichever it was no longer seemed to matter as all the whys and wherefores, the rights and wrongs, and all the various reasons why this might or might not be a good idea faded away into insignificance.
> 
> Back in their cell, this had been a necessity – something to make their situation bearable, John had said. It had been their only way of holding back the darkness and clinging on to the last vestiges of their hope. But here and now, back on Atlantis where they were both safe and secure, it felt like so much more. Here it was a bond, a commitment, a promise.
> 
> "Stay," Rodney whispered against the skin of John's neck. "Stay."
> 
> "Yes, yes, yes," came the reply, a series of soft kisses pressed against Rodney's cheeks and chin and, oh god finally, his mouth.
> 
> Their position was both awkward and uncomfortable, the back of the chair bit painfully into Rodney's thigh as he leaned over it to reach John's mouth and they couldn't get as close enough to each other.
> 
> "Ow," Rodney said aloud, pulling away slightly and scowling down at the chair between them. "I don't bend that way," he said to John, reaching down to push the chair out of the way and then grabbing John by the front of his jacket. "Come here," he said, tugging John forward so that they were finally pressed together all the way from thigh to chest.
> 
> John chuckled as he leaned forward and then they were kissing again. Rodney brought his hands up to cup John's face, holding him gently and luxuriating in the feeling of John's lips, whole and cut-free, as they moved softly over his own. His mouth opened at the first flicker of John's tongue and he felt the rightness of it all flood through him. This time there was no taste of blood or smell of sweat and fear to come between them, no footsteps of the guards to listen for, nor any reason to muffle the sounds of their pleasure; now there was only John.
> 
> "Hey," Rodney said in between pressing kisses down the length of John's neck and under the collar of his jacket. "We've got a proper bed this time, you know." Distracted by the taste of John's undamaged skin, Rodney tugged at the top of John's zip, exposing his collar bone and the top part of his chest. Leaning forward, Rodney gave into temptation and nipped lightly at the jutting bone before soothing the small patch of skin with his tongue. John moaned and flung his head back, arching further into Rodney's embrace. Recalling his idea, Rodney started to move backwards, pulling John along with him as he moved towards the bed.
> 
> He stopped when he felt the edge of the bed against his calves and unzipped John's jacket completely, pushing it off John's shoulders and then pulling John's shirt out from his BDUs. John remained submissive, his face slack with pleasure, mouth slightly open, eyes glazed and his breath coming out in short gasps as Rodney trailed his fingers over the bare skin of this stomach.
> 
> John's skin was warm and firm beneath Rodney's fingertips, his chest completely unblemished despite the bite of Torquin's whip. Rodney found himself running his hands over John's chest again and again, reassuring himself that John was truly undamaged. On his fourth pass, John's hands came up to grasp Rodney's firmly, his fingers wrapping around them and pressing them into his pecs.
> 
> "Rodney," he said softly, causing Rodney to lift his eyes to John's face. "It's okay; I'm okay."
> 
> Rodney nodded, his throat too tight to reply. John leaned forward and kissed Rodney again, turning his hands and then sliding his palms down and around Rodney's body. He pulled back slightly to haul Rodney's shirt up and over his head, tossing it to one side.
> 
> "I believe you said something about a bed," John murmured into Rodney's mouth as they kissed again. Their bare chests brushed together, wringing a moan from Rodney as the heat of John's body enveloped him. His cock, half-hard in his pants, surged to full attention at the contact, his body recalling what it had felt like to have John completely naked and sprawled out beneath him.
> 
> "Yes," he gasped as his hips bucked forward. "Bed."
> 
> They tumbled down together onto the soft mattress, the sensation a far cry from the thin, damp pallet they'd shared. Yet, when Rodney rolled onto his side and pulled John to him, the same sensations of pleasure and rightness coursed through him. Their legs tangled together as they kissed again, John's tongue pressing its way into Rodney's mouth to twine around his own. Rodney lost himself in John's kiss, luxuriating in John's taste and how deep and wet and good he felt.
> 
> Rodney realized that, in addition to kissing, they were also thrusting their hips together. He could feel John's erection pressing hard into his through the layers of their clothing. It felt good, to feel John's arousal pushing into his body, but the constant scrape of his pants was chafing and he wanted to actually feel John's dick itself – the soft skin, weeping head, hard shaft. Pulling back he gestured downwards.
> 
> "Think we could do something about that," he said.
> 
> John looked down and then back up at Rodney. "Yeah," he replied, his hips bucking forward again and causing a mirror reaction in Rodney. "Sounds like a plan," he said with a grin.
> 
> Rodney nodded and they both sat up, albeit rather shakily, and stripped off the rest of their clothes. Once naked, John toppled Rodney back down to the bed, twisting his body as they fell so that Rodney landed partially on top of him. Rodney pushed his hips forward, aligning their cocks and then reached down to take them both in his hand, like they had done so many times before.
> 
> "Wait, Rodney, please...." John said, trailing off uncertainly. Rodney pulled back to look down at him in confusion. John's face was flushed with more than just arousal, he looked embarrassed and needy at the same time. "I... I want..."
> 
> "What?" Rodney asked, reaching out to trail his hand from John's mouth, down over his chest, pausing to tweak a nipple in passing, and along his flat stomach to where his cock stood hard and flushed against his skin. Rodney circled the tip with one finger, smearing the pre-come oozing out of the slit and causing John to moan and jerk forward in response. "What do you want?" Rodney asked again as he took John's dick fully into his fist and pulled down slowly, feeling his own cock jerk and pulse at the sight.
> 
> Rather than answer, John splayed his legs open and canted his hips upwards. The breath caught in Rodney's chest and the ache in his dick intensified almost beyond measure. He dragged his gaze away from John's ass to look at his face. "Oh, god, John. Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.
> 
> John's eyes were almost black. He licked his lips and blinked hazily up at Rodney. "Yes, god, _please_ ," he moaned.
> 
> Rodney nodded and then reached over to John to fumble in his bedside cabinet, finally managing to locate a tube of lube. As he started to sit back up, he first kissed John, who moaned into his mouth, panting and twisting his body beneath Rodney's, grinding his dick into Rodney's side.
> 
> Rodney wrenched his mouth away. "Okay, okay, okay," he panted, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to stave off his impending climax. He felt John shift on the bed beside him, and opened his eyes to see that John had turned over onto his front and was now on his hands and knees, his ass tilted towards Rodney. He had to reach down and grip the base of his cock hard to prevent himself from coming; the urge to jack himself to completion, to spew all over John's perfect ass, so very tempting.
> 
> Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Rodney squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers and then slowly trailed them down over the crack of John's ass. John looked back at Rodney over his shoulder.
> 
> "Okay?" Rodney asked him, his voice a little unsteady.
> 
> John nodded in reply, thrusting his ass further into Rodney's hands. "More," he said. "Please, Rodney, more."
> 
> Rodney circled John's hole with his fingers, teasing the edges of John's body before gently easing one finger inside. John moaned and pushed back into his hand, his body hot and smooth and very tight. Rodney rubbed John's lower back with his other hand as he carefully opened John up, pausing to add more lube and more fingers as John's body gradually relaxed and accepted his intrusion. He ran his forefinger around the tight passage, searching until he felt the tell-tale bump of John's prostate. John jerked and moaned as Rodney teased it lightly, his ass grinding back as he fucked himself on Rodney's fingers.
> 
> "Rodney," John gritted at last, panting and his body trembling. "I'm ready. God, get on with it, _please_."
> 
> Rodney withdrew his fingers carefully, reaching out for the lube to slick up his dick, breathing deeply and again having to fight the temptation to jerk himself off over John's prone body. He moved in between John's legs, holding onto John's hips with one hand and positioning his cock at John's loosened hole with the other. He moaned as he pressed the head of his dick into John's tight passage, feeling the resistance gradually give way as John bore down. Moving slowly, he worked his way completely inside John with shallow thrusts, mentally attempting to derive the quantum tunnelling probability through a barrier in his head in an effort to distract him from the sheer pleasure filling him.
> 
> Once he bottomed out inside John, he tried to pause for a moment, trying to give John a chance to get used to his presence. John bucked back almost at once, grinding his body back onto Rodney's cock and urging him to keep going. Rodney started to thrust, doing his best to keep his movements slow and steady despite the urgings of his baser instincts to just fuck John as hard and as fast as he could. Leaning forward slowly, Rodney pressed his chest along John's back and wrapped an arm about John's waist whilst bracing his other hand on the bed. He stopped moving for a moment before pushing upwards with as much strength as he could muster, pulling John into a kneeling position over his lap.
> 
> John groaned as he settled himself down, their new position forcing Rodney even further into his body. His head twisted to one side and he caught Rodney's mouth in a deep kiss, panting into Rodney's mouth and thrusting his tongue deep as he started to move on Rodney's cock. Rodney could feel the muscles of John's thighs bunch and flex as he fucked himself onto Rodney's dick.
> 
> One of Rodney's hands gripped John's hips while the other trailed down his chest to fist John's cock tightly. John moaned and arched against Rodney, his head thrown back as he worked himself on Rodney; thrusting his cock up into Rodney's fist before screwing his ass down onto Rodney's dick. Rodney countered John's movements as best he could, angling his cock to graze John's prostate and jacking John's dick firmly, smearing his thumb over the slick head and twisting down the shaft.
> 
> John's head thrashed against Rodney's shoulder and Rodney lowered his head to bite down hard on the tendons of John's neck. John keened and his body jerked up and down frantically for a few more thrusts before freezing. Rodney felt the hot pulse of John's come spurt out over his fist as John's body clenched hard with the force of his climax. His ass squeezed tightly around Rodney's cock and Rodney found his hips bucking up into John's body once, twice, more before his own orgasm thundered through him.
> 
> Rodney managed to retain sufficient motor control to help John up and off, his cock sliding wetly out of John's body. A trail of his come trickled out of John's ass as John moved and, despite having just had what probably was the most intense orgasm of his life, Rodney had to bite back a moan at just how hot a sight that made. John collapsed down onto the bed on his back, smiling sleepily up at Rodney and beckoning him down with a wave of his arms. Rodney nodded, but forced himself to get up and fetch a wet towel from his bathroom.
> 
> "So, it seems that we did get something good out of it, after all," John whispered once they were both clean and Rodney had slipped back into bed beside him. John's arms snaked tightly about Rodney's body at once, pulling him close.
> 
> Rodney let out a huff of laughter as he buried his head into the crook of John's neck. He hummed lightly into John's skin in response, letting his body relax into sleep for what felt like the first time since they'd returned.
> 
> ****
> 
> When Rodney awoke next, it was very early. Squinting into the dim light, he could just about make out the shadowy figure of John dressing quietly. His movement must have attracted John's attention because he paused, having only pulled on one boot, and padded unevenly back over to the bed. Rodney blinked up at him muzzily as he sat down on the corner and leaned over Rodney's prone body.
> 
> "Hey," John whispered, his words coming as soft puffs of air against Rodney's sleep-warmed cheeks. "Go back to sleep, it's early yet."
> 
> "Where you going?" Rodney asked indistinctly, yawning mid-sentence.
> 
> "Gotta go meet Ronon," John replied. "I've been missing our runs and he's no doubt looking forward to kicking my ass."
> 
> "Oh," Rodney said, his brain still mostly asleep. "I thought you were leaving."
> 
> "Just for a while," John said. "Then I'll be back." He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Rodney's lips. "Like I said, got kinda used to having you around. Now, go back to sleep."
> 
> Rodney's eyes closed of their own accord as sleep pulled him under. He didn't even hear John leave.
> 
> ****
> 
> "I don't think you realize just how much work I've got to do," Rodney groused as John practically dragged him into the commissary later that morning. "Besides, the coffee is infinitely better in my lab, plus do you have any idea just how much havoc Roberts and Connor could wreak when Radek lets them lose in the central server? Because, if not, let me tell you-"
> 
> "Rodney," John interrupted. "Relax, okay buddy? Your work can wait for twenty minutes while you eat breakfast. I'm sure Radek is more than capable of supervising your minions for that short amount of time and your coffee will still be there when we get done."
> 
> "Hmm," Rodney grunted, but allowed John to herd him into the queue for food. He eyed the day's offerings suspiciously for a moment and then started filling his plate.
> 
> "Sheppard, McKay," Ronon joined them in the line, piling his food high in a manner which Rodney couldn't help but admire. John's breakfast was much more restrained than either Rodney's or Ronon's; a bowl of cereal, fruit and a muffin. While Rodney was still grappling with the scrambled eggs, John poured them both a cup of coffee, grabbed a bottle of water for Ronon, and then waited for Rodney and Ronon to finish before leading the way to their usual table.
> 
> "He ran well this morning," Ronon said to Rodney as they crossed the commissary, nodding his head towards John. "You're obviously good for him."
> 
> Rodney froze, horrified, staring at Ronon in complete shock. But, to his utter surprise, John merely came back and nudged him with his shoulder to get him going again before saying to Ronon, "You're just worried I'm gonna beat you one of these days."
> 
> "Not a chance, Sheppard," Ronon replied with an evil grin, as he took his seat next to Teyla.
> 
> "Good morning," Teyla said, her gaze moving carefully over each of them in turn. Seemingly satisfied, her face broke into a smile as they greeted her in return. Turning to John, she asked about their next mission. John sat down beside Rodney as he replied, pulling his chair closer to the table, pressing his thigh alongside Rodney's as he did so. Rodney pressed back lightly and dug into his breakfast.
> 
> As the meal drew to a close, Rodney stopped eating for a moment and looked around the table at his team, letting the snatches of their conversation ebb and flow about him. John reached out to steal the last piece of bacon off his plate and he automatically parried the attempt with his fork. John then dropped his hands in mock defeat and instead took to looking at Rodney mournfully until Rodney had no choice but to push his plate closer with a roll of his eyes. John grinned at him and started munching on the bacon happily as he returned to his conversation with Ronon, surreptitiously pushing his own plate, with his blueberry muffin, towards Rodney with his elbow. Rodney snagged the muffin and started to unpeel its wrapping. As he broke it up into bite-sized chunks, he looked across the table to meet Teyla's gaze, her eyes bright as her gaze darted between him and John. She smiled at him and his own smile bloomed freely in return as the wave of happiness flooded through him.
> 
> This was right, this was good, he was home.
> 
>  
> 
> _~fin~_

 


End file.
